


A Learning Curve

by TheShatteredRose



Series: A Learning Experience [2]
Category: Etrian Odyssey IV: Legends of the Titan, Etrian Odyssey Series
Genre: Brotherhood, Everyone Is Gay, M/M, Male Protagonist, POV Male Character, Sequel, Spoilers, mostly male cast, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-04 20:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 118,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShatteredRose/pseuds/TheShatteredRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the defeat of the Titan, things should be peaceful for Guild Phaedron, right? Unfortunately not. Mysterious antagonists with links to the guild, new dangers that don’t all come from the labyrinths and something about a New Empire is just the start. And some of the most unlikely people find themselves right in the middle of it.</p><p>Sequel to A Learning Experience</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This sequel will be a little bit different from ALE. Firstly, it will be focusing on a couple of other characters from the guild, mostly Roxbury as I adore him. There will also be a few new faces with added twists and turns. Secondly, it won’t nearly be as long as ALE. Maybe half the length? Up in the air at the moment, but it’ll definitely be 20 or so chapters.

Life had become pretty hectic for the citizens of Tharsis. The arrival of new explorers searching for fame and fortune coincided with the still on-going evacuation of Cloudy Stronghold. The city itself was growing quickly, too quickly for some as they were finding it difficult to house and cater for all the newcomers.

Even Tharsis’ famous and most beloved guild, Phaedron, was finding it hard to keep up. They had four lands and five labyrinths that needed to be mapped, and potentially hundreds of new items to examine and catalogue.

The Yggdrasil Titan was no more and the curse seemed to have vanished along with it. The toxicity of decaying lands seemed to be confined to the Cloudy Stronghold. The two rare races of Vessels and Sentinels were safe and sound. There was no longer a threat to anyone.

Even so…none of that would explain why rookie guilds were suddenly complaining about their airships malfunctioning.

“What yeh talking about?” Ciaran asked, cutting off the rambling and underdressed female explorer in front of him. “That airship was in top shape last night.”

The short, female adventurer twitched. “Well, something went wrong today!” she seethed at him as she flailed an arm in the direction of an airship with a gaping hole in the side. “Fix it!”

Ciaran felt his own eye twitch. “I'm the master of this wharf, not the overseer of all airships. I can't help yeh in the air. That's _your_ responsibility.”

As the rookie guild of youngsters stalked away, utterly pissed that Ciaran was calling them out for their own actions, Ciaran folded his arms over his chest and frowned as he looked at the ground. “What is going on here?” he mumbled to himself.

He had never seen so many damaged airships before. They were fine when he would call it a night and got some sleep, but when he returned in the morning, there was always a complaint waiting on his desk for him by the guilds who took a flight at night. A broken propeller, a damaged keel, ripped ballooning. Hell, gaping holes in the side was getting so common that it was ridiculous. They were things he would have picked up on.

It was starting to get dangerous.

For him, too. He wasn’t talking about how some of the local politicians were questioning his status as the wharf-master. He couldn’t care less about them. Count was on his side, as were the famous guild Phaedron. No official was going to say a single thing wrong against them.

No, he was talking about his own well-being. He can’t remember the last time he got a decent amount of sleep. If he wasn’t careful, Isiah might come after him. He did once before, and holy hell was that scary!

Still…there was one question that lingered in his mind.

Why only _his_ airships? Those belonging to the empire or the imperials themselves were never damaged.

“Your airships are inferior.”

Ciaran automatically twitched. “It's him...” he muttered as he turned to face the owner of the voice.

An imperial with brown skin and long black hair pulled into thick dreadlocks stood impassively in front of an airship, looking at it with a sense of distain in his eyes. He wore the typical imperial armour and carried his driveblade with him everywhere.

Ugh, that bastard.

He was called Xander and he was actually the one who had snatched Nitish during that imperial raid before the Titan’s resurrection. He was also the one that was booted off the airship to act as the distraction for a frantic Varuna. Not to mention he was also the victim of the curse itself. Not the best track record.

Ciaran didn’t trust him as far as he could kick him. And with Xander being six-feet tall of pure muscle and harden steel, that wasn’t very far…

“No surprise, really,” the arrogant imperial continued, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “Taking into consideration the materials used to construct them.”

“At least my airships have character,” Ciaran seethed at him, absolutely loathing anyone who dared to say a bad word about his airships. “Better than those abysmal shadows of death yeh call airships.”

Though Xander’s expression remained passively stoic, his eyes narrowed angrily. “They are the height of imperial power.”

“That got yeh a long way, huh?” Ciaran retorted before turning his back on the dark-armoured imperial and snatched a docking chart from its place on the wall.

Looking at the chart did little to ease his frustrations. There were more reports of damage. Some of them minor and could be fixed in a few hours. Others would take a day at the least.

He didn’t want to start causing trouble, but a voice in his head was telling him that it was no coincidence that these damaged reports started around the same time Imperials started flocking Tharsis.

Speaking of Imperials, Ciaran had to admit that he was developing a bit of a…distaste for the heavily armoured soldiers. And since he was the wharf-master, he had to deal with them on day to day bases. He was getting sick of imperials, honestly. He won’t ever say that out loud as it would cause further tensions amongst the masses.

Glancing up when he heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a shriek of embarrassment, Ciaran found his gaze falling upon another Imperial. A female one this time, though.

Her light pink hair was a stark contrast to her dark armour. He wasn’t sure of the woman’s name, nor did he care to learn at this point. The only Imperials he had any time for was Logre and Achyuta. And maybe Baldur. Only so he could drag the brat back to Isiah when he got too feisty and tried to leave.

Wiglaf, however, seemed to like this imperial. Teasing her, at least, if leaving her flustered and spluttering was anything to go by. She was probably responsible for the shriek of embarrassment he heard.

Glancing back down at the chart in his hands, Ciaran quickly did a mental calculation and realised that he was running out of supplies to fix the damaged airships. He needed to get to work to keep things running smoothly.

“Wiglaf!”

“What’s up, chief?” Wiglaf asked in response, turning to look at him with a slightly upturned eyebrow.

“Hold the fort for me?” Ciaran requested as he continued on his way to the exit. “I need to see our famous researchers for a bit.”

Wiglaf gave him an ok sign with her hand. “Sure, no problem.”

“Looking to borrow some of their competence?” Xander was heard questioning.

“Oh, blow it out yeh ass!” Ciaran yelled back at him in return as he continued on his way.

Ugh…Imperials.

The walk through Tharsis was uneventful, even while dodging young explorers to be who were looking around dazed. Reaching the famous Researchers’ Clinic was easy as most of the locals learnt to keep a wide berth of the place so not to get entangled with the chaos of their, ah, exploits.

The front door was slightly ajar and he could hear voices inside. Knowing that the residents inside won’t mind him letting himself in, he simply walked up the steps and pushed the door open. Inside were, unsurprisingly, a few members of the Phaedron guild loitering about, looking relatively refreshed despite having returned to town late last night on an errand.

“Hey, sorry for the intrusion,” Ciaran announced his presence, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“Welcome, Ciaran,” Nitish was the one to welcome him in, the talented runemaster looking rather pale and tired as he placed books that he was carrying on an overloaded bookshelf close to where Isiah’s office was. “You look exhausted.”

“Yeh not much better,” Ciaran said in response, prompting a light flush to appear on Nitish’s cheeks.

“Yes, I guess that’s true,” Nitish said in a dismissive manner before indicating to the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?”

Ciaran didn’t see the harm. Could help calm him down a bit. “Sure. How’s everyone going anyway?”

“Isiah is in his office, speaking with a government official about…” Nitish trailed off as he searched for the right words. “Certain matters.”

About Baldur, no doubt.

“And Varuna is fresh off a couple of tedious all-nighters,” Nitish continued as he waved his hand in the direction of the seating area. “And is somewhat…dazed.”

Ciaran automatically glanced in the direction Nitish indicated to and saw that Varuna had sat himself crossed-legged on the couch next to Bryce, a cup of some kind of tea resting in the two of his hands and on his lap. He had dark rings under his eyes as he stared off into space, barely registering anything around him. He certainly looked dazed and frazzled.

“I can see,” Ciaran murmured as he turned his attention back to Nitish, again immediately noticing the slight darkness under his eyes. “And yeh?”

“Well, I, too, have spent the majority of the night with several essays,” Nitish answered with a weary smile as he set about preparing some tea. “What about you?”

Ciaran sighed and folded his arms on top of the kitchen bench, leaning against it. “Having some trouble at the wharf,” he admitted.

“Hm? What kind?”

“Careless explorers abusing their airships,” Ciaran replied with a slight grumble as he looked through the kitchen window in to the back garden. “They’re always limping back with missing parts, blaming me for their carelessness. I always make sure that the airships docked at my wharf are in top shape. I can’t be on guard all the time, though.”

They lapsed into silence as Nitish set about boiling some water for the tea with his fire magic. Ciaran found his attention drawn to the occupants outside in the backyard. Biast was resting against the base of a tree in the corner of the garden, seemingly enjoying the warm sun by having a nap. Miach was flitting about amongst the plants, inspecting the flowers and herbs. No doubt Isiah sent him out there as a part of his training. In another corner were Roxbury and Achyuta, the two seemingly sparing against each other, but not all that serious as neither of the two were wearing armour.

Ciaran couldn’t help but muse about how much the guild had grown. And how tall most of the new members were. Ciaran was a head shorter than Roxbury, and Roxbury used to be the tallest of the guild. But now he had Achyuta who was a few inches taller, while Logre was a few inches taller than Achyuta. Biast towered over everyone, much to the gentle bushi’s dismay as he kept bumping his head on doorways and ceilings. He preferred being outside, which is understandable.

Speaking of height, that damn Xander was about Achyuta’s height, so that arrogant imperial also towered over him. He could be pretty intimidating. Which he probably knew, too.

Even the two shortest and youngest of the guild, Blayden and Fletcher, were starting to sprout. If they grew to be taller than Ciaran…argh, that would piss him off. At least Zoran won’t get any taller.

“Here,” Nitish’s voice pulled him from his musings. “Your tea’s ready.”

“Ah, thanks,” Ciaran murmured as he took the cup of tea Nitish held toward him and turned his attention back to the window, into the back garden. “Are Roxbury and Achyuta sparing?”

“Training,” Nitish answered as he, too, turned his attention to what was happening outside. A small smile appeared on his lips as he took a slow sip of his own cup of tea. “Roxbury is teaching Achyuta what it takes to be a fortress; while in return Achyuta is teaching Roxbury how to wield a driveblade.”

Ciaran watched as Achyuta suddenly offered Roxbury his driveblade, prompting the fortress to put down his shield and mace. As Roxbury gripped the driveblade with two hands, Achyuta placed a hand on Roxbury’s back, helping him into the ideal stance to hold such a large and heavy weapon while his other hand rested on the handle, close to where Roxbury was holding. He then guided him through a couple of slow swinging motions, speaking the entire time. He would then pull back slightly, allowing Roxbury to carry the full weight of the weapon while indicating to his own elbows and wrists, pivoting them as some sort of visual aide.

He obviously couldn’t hear what Achyuta was saying, but he assumed it was about the fundamental mechanics of the weapon and how one could wield it effectively. Roxbury seemed interested in what Achyuta was telling him, nodding his head on occasion.

“They get along well, don’t they?” Ciaran couldn’t help but comment.

“Their personalities are rather similar,” Nitish was quick to agree with a warm smile on his lips. “It’s good to see.”

Ciaran sighed before muttering, “If only all imperials were as nice as him…”

Nitish turned toward him, his brow slightly furrowed in concern. “You are receiving trouble from an imperial?”

“Not trouble so much as his mere presence annoys the shit out of me,” Ciaran admitted before his eye gave a telling twitch as he thought of the Imperial himself. “Stupid Xander.”

The frown on Nitish’s face smoothed out and he even chuckled. “I see.”

“He says my airships are inferior,” Ciaran muttered as a bubble of indignation appeared in his chest. “Bastard, how would he know?!”

“There there,” Nitish said soothingly, even going as far as to pat him on the back.

There was suddenly a lull in background noise as a tense chill filled the air. Before anyone could say anything, there was a familiar sound of a mace being used, followed by a startled cry. Seconds later, the door to Isiah's office flew open and a bearded man he must have been speaking with stumbled out, clutching his head, blood seeping through his fingers. He frantically fumbled his way to the front door, threw that open and lurched outside.

A mere second after that, Isiah stormed out of his office, mace in hand and stalked over to the front door. Holding onto the door handle, he yelled outside. "I've been awake for three days straight; I need sleep, not a fucking cookie!"

No one dared to say a thing as Isiah slammed the door shut, his face creased into a fearsome scowl as he stalked back to his office. However, Falkner, seemingly the only person within Tharsis not deathly afraid of Isiah, stopped him with a question.

"You're letting that one get away?" he asked with a grin.

Isiah stopped next to him and got up in his face. "Does Mr Cwanky-Pants need a cookie?"

With one hand in his pocket, the other grasping at the handle of his coffee, Falkner threw his head back on a laugh. "Them fighting words!" he said.

"I'll give him Cwanky-Pants..." Isiah muttered under his breath as he stalked into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

Falkner still found the whole thing funny, chuckling to himself. Others of their guild (except Varuna who was still staring off into space), however, were a little more tense and nervous. No surprise, really. An angry Isiah was far more fearsome than any FOE.

…Hm, maybe that was why they were so fearless out in the field?

The silence was softly broken by the faint sound of coughing. Immediately, Nitish turned his attention to the back garden, a frown of concern on his lips when he noticed that Achyuta was slightly hunched over, his hand covering his mouth.

“Excuse me,” Nitish said as he placed down his tea and reached for a large blue glass bottle that was sitting amongst the bottles of medica and nectar. “Achyuta need his medication.”

“Sure,” Ciaran simply said. He had some idea of Achyuta’s health, but he didn’t know all the details. He didn’t really need to. Living with three researchers will ensure that he got the best medical treatment possible.

Nitish spent a moment filling up a glass with a sweet smelling tonic before hurrying outside.

Downing the rest of his tea, Ciaran spent a moment gazing out the window again, simply watching as Roxbury and Achyuta interacted. Roxbury had his hand on Achyuta’s back in an attempt to comfort Achyuta, who was coughing harshly into his hand. Achyuta grimaced as he pulled his hand away from his mouth and uttered something to Roxbury, an apology no doubt. Roxbury simply smiled and nodded his head, glancing up with relief in his gaze when Nitish appeared with Achyuta’s medicine.

Compared to the other imperials he had met, Achyuta seemed rather out of place. He wasn’t arrogant or hostile in anyway. He immediately settled in with the guild and with the way of life in Tharsis. He even got along well with the Count. He thrived on his freedom. He was grateful to experience life in Tharsis.

Imperials were welcomed to Tharsis. They were, however, still refugees and some didn’t like the thought of that. They needed to get used to the living standards of Tharsis

…Argh, he needed to get back to work.

“Hey Bryce, is Varuna conscious?” Ciaran asked as placed his empty cup on the bench and ventured closer.

“Depends on your definition of conscious,” Bryce retorted with a light snort. He sound annoyed, but it was easy to tell that he was concerned as well.

Standing by the couch where Varuna was, Ciaran leaned forward and gave Varuna a slight poke, hoping to get his attention. “Hey, Varuna? Any spare Thujopsis roots?"

However, Varuna didn't immediately reply. He continued to stare at the empty space in front of him, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Next to him, Bryce nudged him with his elbow, an expression a mixture of exasperation and concern on his face.

Lethargically, Varuna turned to look at him blankly. He, however, seemed to wake up a bit more when he realised that everyone was looking at him. "What?" he asked, stunned and surprised.

"I'm looking for some Thujopsis roots," Ciaran explained.

"Oh, ah, sure," Varuna said as he placed his teacup down on the coffee table and stood up. "Right."

"Up and at 'em, tiger," Falkner said to him, earning a soft laugh that was sheepish and somewhat filled with relief.

"Sorry," Varuna said as he headed toward the storage room. "Been busy lately."

Ciaran simply waved him off. He knew all too well. With the restoration of Yggdrasil, he had been busy manning the wharf, rebuilding airships and teaching rookie explorers how to fly. He was also dealing with the demands of transportation of Imperial soldiers and natives of the Cloudy Stronghold into Tharsis. He couldn't remember the last time he got some decent sleep.

It was a slight relief to know that he wasn’t the only one, to be honest.

After a few moments spent digging around in the make-shift storage room, Varuna returned with an armful of the requested materials.

“Appreciate it,” Ciaran said as he gathered up the materials into his arms, silently hoping that they were enough to fix the damaged airships. Hopefully there hadn’t been anymore in his absence. “But I think yeh probably should get some sleep.”

Varuna sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. “I think you’re right.”

“I, on the other hand, need to get back to work,” Ciaran said as he readjusted his hold on the Thujopsis roots and shifted them to under his arm. “Thanks again. I’ll pay yeh back later.”

“Forget it,” Varuna said around a yawn and headed toward the stairs. “Take whatever you want. They were only taking up space.”

“Right. Well, catch yeh guys later.”

“It was nice having you around, Ciaran.” Nitish’s sudden voice Ciaran to pause at the front door. He glanced over his shoulder to see Nitish, along with Roxbury and Achyuta behind him, the three of them looking friendly and relaxed. “You’re as much of a researcher as we are, so do come around again. Even if it’s just for a whinge.”

Ciaran couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll do that,” he promised before leaving.


	2. Chapter 2

Reaching the Grand Mark’s Court, Logre decided to linger outside for a while longer. Moving away from the mainstream of bustling explorers and locals, Logre found himself musing over recent events as he lingered at the foot of the steps leading inside.

There was a lot to take in. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. He could still remember that day when he met a rookie guild and taught them how to draw up maps.

Since that day, life really began to change. Reaching further lands, exploring treacherous labyrinths, meeting unique citizens who live within the labyrinths. Quite an adventure, one fraught with danger and mystery.

And…betrayal.

Logre shook his head to prevent himself from traversing down that path of thought. He instead focused on the positives. And there were many.

With the Heavenbringer subdued and no longer a threat to life itself, Logre felt as though a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders. The final battle was long and hard, precarious in so many different ways.

Yet, the guild he was a part of, his guild, had managed to win. Not a single life was lost. The Medium was saved and so was Prince Baldur. His fellow Imperial Knights have been also rescued, the Count allowing them to seek refuge within Tharsis. Everyone was safe now.

With his part done, Logre figured that he would go back to as either an Imperial Knight for his majesty, Prince Baldur, or become Whirlwind again. His guild, however, had other ideas. He was a part of their guild, so he was stuck with them. There was no way they were going to retire him or let him leave.

They had threatened to hunt him down and drag him kicking and screaming back to Tharsis if he tried anything. And regarding how stubborn and determined his guild was, that wasn’t a threat to take lightly.

As Isiah put it, he wasn’t allowed to wallow in self-pity.

“Good day, Logre.”

“Ah, Kirjonen,” Logre said as a lopsided grin immediately appeared on his lips, turning his head slightly to give his attention to the one who pulled him from his musings. “Here to speak with the Count?”

“Indeed,” Kirjonen replied as he paused at the bottom step leading into the Mark’s Court. “Are you here to ensure that Prince Baldur doesn’t try to escape again?”

Logre physically winced as he glanced up at the multi-storied building with some trepidation. “I hope he’s still inside.”

Kirjonen chuckled before having to take a slight step to the side to allow a small group of heavily armoured Imperials to descend the stairs from the Grand Mark’s Court. The group gave Logre a quick salute of respect, of which he returned with a nod of his head, before quickly marching away with a seeming sense of purpose.

Hopefully that didn’t mean what he thought it did…

“Imperials seem to be finding it the most difficult to settle within the lifestyle of Tharsis,” Kirjonen suddenly commented.

Logre sighed before nodding his head in understanding. “Not much of a surprise.”

Kirjonen granted him a curious look, prompting him to continue with his train of thought. “Hm?”

Logre found himself sighing again as he folded his arms over his chest. “Imperials…We’re loyal, but meant to be loners. Our armour prevented touch. Touch, after all, could have led to poisoning and death.”

Kirjonen unexpectedly brushed his fingers over Logre’s shoulder. “But not anymore, right?”

Logre glanced down at the hand touching his shoulder gently before gazing up at the blond-haired Holy Rune Knight. As he did so, Kirjonen unexpectedly tilted his head, indicating to something. When Logre turned to look, he was unable to prevent a small smile from appearing on his lips.

In amongst the throngs of locals and explorers was a certain Imperial and Runemaster. The sight of Achyuta and Nitish together, holding hands or touching each other in some kind of loving manner was becoming such a common sight that very few people paid them much mind.

Momentarily pausing in their stroll, Achyuta turned Nitish to face him before he framed Nitish’s face with his hands. Nitish reached up to place his own hands on top of Achyuta’s, a slightly curious look on his face. There were a few gentle whispers exchanged between them before they both leaned forward and tenderly pressed their foreheads together. The smile on Nitish’s lips was absolutely radiant.

“It’s good to see that at least one Imperial is embracing his freedom,” Logre said as he watched the two weave their way through the crowds, two wrapped up in each other to actually pay attention to the world around them.

“They look good together,” Kirjonen said sincerely as he allowed his hand to fall away from Logre’s shoulder and instead rest on the stone banister he was leaning against.

“Achyuta had always been different from other Imperials,” Logre explained as he watched the man in question disappear from sight. “He had an insatiable need for knowledge. Other Imperials…simply did as they were told.”

“Hm, then I guess that means he was destined to be a part of Guild Phaedron,” Kirjonen unexpectedly said, causing Logre to turn his attention back to him. “Like you.”

Logre was somewhat startled and pained by that. “They’re such a soft-hearted guild,” he muttered, momentarily returning to a previous line of thought.

Kirjonen was silent as a strangely troubled expression appeared on his face and he looked away. “…I can’t even begin to fathom what it must have been like for you.”

“Hm?”

“Having to face your prince in battle,” Kirjonen said as he glanced up toward the upper floors of the Grand Mark’s Court. “You must have felt so torn. I can’t help but wonder if I could do the same. I believe in my king, I believe in his words and beliefs. I’ve been raised to follow his every order. To come to the sudden realisation that, perhaps, not everything I’ve been told is true…”

Kirjonen trailed off softly and Logre felt a small lump of emotion lodge in his throat. But he remained silent nonetheless, allowing the blond Holy Rune Knight to continue.

“It would lead to an identity crisis, no doubt,” Kirjonen finished. While he had not experienced such a thing, the thought alone was still rather painful for him.

It did lead to an identity crisis for Logre. It most certainly did. For ten years he believed in his Emperor’s ideals and beliefs. He trusted that his prince would be safe and secure. For ten whole years he waited and wandered for the right time, the chance to finally go home, all the while trying to keep his distance from the troubled Varuna and fragile Nitish.

Only when he managed to do just that, he was despaired to find that ‘home’ had changed. His prince had changed so much. No longer the innocent cheeky child he had to keep an eye on, preventing him from causing trouble for the knights. He had grown into a hardened young man, ruthless and desperate to save his kingdom. A young man willing to sacrifices two entirely innocent races.

What had happened to Prince Baldur during those ten years of his absence? If only he had been a bit stronger, maybe he wouldn’t have been away for so long.

“I have to admit, I admire you.”

“Hm?” Logre uttered, Kirjonen’s voice pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Wandering around for ten years is a long time to carry such heavy burdens,” Kirjonen said as he lowered his eyes from the court and looked over to him, looking him in the eyes. “I doubt that I could have. You’re a very strong person.”

Logre gave a wary half-smile. “…Strength isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I suppose,” Kirjonen said with a small smile. “But, there are many different forms of strength, isn’t there?”

Logre couldn’t argue with that.

“Things certainly have changed, haven’t they?” Kirjonen suddenly asked.

“They have.”

They most certainly have.

And it all started when the guild known as Phaedron appeared and joined forces with Tharsis’ top three researchers. Since then they’ve put in motion so many things. Improving the airships, exploring new lands, discovering mysteries and secrets of the many labyrinths and caves, bringing together many different races. Who knew that one guild of make-shift explorers and researchers would achieve so much?

It was actually allowing him to feel some hope. Perhaps they could help Prince Baldur?

The young prince he knew was still in there somewhere. Logre caught glimpses of him whenever he tried to defiantly disregard Isiah’s directions, only to throw a mini tantrum whenever the silver-haired medic managed to get a hold of him. Prince Baldur would definitely disagree with him, but Isiah really was the best thing for him right now. He had been surrounded by ‘Yes-men’ his entire life. To have someone like Isiah who didn’t care that he was a prince and treating him as the young man he really was underneath must be surprisingly refreshing.

Interacting with the rest of the guild would also be beneficial for him.

“Something else on your mind?” Kirjonen asked him, no doubt noticing the contemplative expression on his face.

“Oh, nothing really,” Logre said as he dropped his arms from his chest and pushed away from the stone guardrail he was leaning against. “But maybe I am beginning to understand what true peace is.”

Kirjonen nodded his head and smiled. “Perhaps that means a smoother path lies ahead for you?”

Logre gave a careless shrug. “Who knows?”

Kirjonen wasn’t as naïve as he first thought him to be. Innocent and pure, no doubt about that. But he was not naïve. He was actually a surprisingly deep person.

“Well, it’s always important to explore your options, I suppose,” Logre mused aloud, wanting to steer the conversation onto another matter. There was only so much deep and meaningful conversations a man could take. “After all, there could be other possibilities that you didn’t see before.”

Kirjonen looked momentarily confused as to why Logre was speaking those words, but he opted to stay silent nonetheless, figuring that Logre was simply airing his musings. He nodded his head in acceptance and understanding, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Someone once told me that the hows and whys of life do not matter nearly as much as your own inner feelings,” Kirjonen added as mysteriously.

Ah, how true. As knights and warriors, they were taught how to trust their own instincts. Trust that mysterious gut-instinct. It was a skill that could be used for everything, even outside the battlefield.

Despite how painful their topic of conversation had started, Logre felt a little bit better. It felt good to have someone understand your actions and pains, while also not being a part of your distress. Being with other Imperials, especially decked out in their highly detailed and fortified armour made him remember of a past long gone. Of a time he couldn’t go back to.

But Kirjonen didn’t constantly remind him of his past actions. He understood, but he wasn’t there. Like the rest of Phaedron, his guild, he was supportive. He needed that.

Still, was he willing to let go of the past to move on?

Mah…Making no decision was the same as making the decision not to make a decision. So, why not make the choice to simply go with the flow and see where life leads him now? No harm in that.

“Sir Logre!”

Logre furrowed his brow when he recognised the voice. He was somewhat surprised to see Neolani in Tharsis. After the brazen raid and kidnapping of Nitish, which ultimately led to Achyuta choosing to save and protect Nitish over aiding her, she was adamant that she would not degrade herself by mingling with commoners. Her words exactly.

Whatever the reason she was in town, he could only hope that she didn’t confront either Nitish or Achyuta. That would immediately gain Varuna’s ire and, well…he might not be able to hold Varuna back should he set his sights on her. His resentment and hatred was completely reasonable, mind you. He just didn’t want the nightseeker to angst about his hasty actions later on.

Making her way quickly over to him, Neolani suddenly stopped and turned her attention to Kirjonen, giving him a harsh glare. “Leave. This is private.”

Logre immediately frowned in a sense of protectiveness. There was absolutely no reason to be so ill-mannered toward Kirjonen.

Kirjonen looked momentarily startled at the abrupt and frankly rude command before sighing and turning his attention back to Logre. “I need to speak with the Count anyway,” he said before placing his hand on Logre’s shoulder, bidding him farewell. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Logre.”

“Catch you later,” Logre said as he allowed Kirjonen’s touch to linger for a moment before watching as the blond dropped his hand to his side and walked up the steps. The moment he was out of sight, Logre turned to face Neolani, giving her a rather cold and stern look when he noticed that she seemed to be watching Kirjonen through narrowed eyes.

“You could at least try to get along with other classes,” he said. His words, however, were to be pointless. Before he was chosen to aide his highness in the search for a peaceful solution to their decaying lands, he had trained a young Neolani on occasion. They didn’t have a teacher/subordinate relationship by any means, but he did realise that she had great potential as an Imperial.

Her personality, on the other hand…even as a rookie she saw herself as far above everyone else. It didn’t help that she was at the top of the classes. Seemed like the last ten years did nothing to lower her expectations of herself and others around her.

Neolani looked momentarily surprised before shaking her head and giving Logre a curious look. “Why are you not dressed in your knight’s armour?”

“I am not required to wear it all the time,” Logre replied quickly, trying to ignore how Isiah would tease him mercilessly about the so-called ‘puffy’ pants. Augh, that man could be so witty with his words that it made him somewhat envious.

“But you are an imperial knight,” Neolani retorted as she indicated to her own armour, seemingly proud of her stance and profile. “Wearing our armour is a sign of great honour.”

It was also cumbersome and high maintenance, and didn’t make any sense whatsoever in Tharsis or the Windy Plains.

“Is there something you need from me?” Logre asked. He was pretty sure she wasn’t there to apologise for what she had done to both Nitish and Tharsis.

“I would like you to return to the Cloudy Stronghold with me,” Neolani surprisingly said.

That actually stunned Logre into silence for a moment. Of all the things he was expecting, he most certainly wasn’t expecting that. Where in the world did that come from?

“Hey, Logre.”

The sound of Isiah’s voice was somewhat of a relief. However, his relief didn’t last long as Neolani immediately whipped her head around to the court’s entrance and glared.

“Know your place, Medic,” she snapped as Isiah continued down the steps at a leisurely pace. “I am speaking with Sir Logre.”

“Does it really look like I give a shit?” Isiah retorted swiftly without faltering in his steps or mood in any way. He gave Neolani a rather terse stare for a mere second before he reached the bottom step and turned his full attention back to Logre. “Anyway, where is the brat? If he thinks he can run around while he’s still recovering, then I’ve got a surprise for him.”

Grateful for the distraction, Logre turned his body slightly so that it appeared that he was giving the famously feared Medic his full attention. “He’s not with the Count?”

“No,” Isiah replied, shoving his hand into the pocket of his coat as the other toyed with the handle of his mace. Why he was carrying it around so casually, Logre didn’t want to know. “Unless the little shit was hiding.”

Logre felt a wryly grin slip across his lips. His prince would not be hiding, as it were. Avoiding Isiah, perhaps, by disappearing into one of the back rooms of the grand court; but a prince of his power and skill would never hide from a medic.

“Try the cargo wharf, then,” Logre provided. “Perhaps he’s inspecting his airship?”

The frown on Isiah’s face only deepened. “If he gets on it he’s going to be in trouble.”

“I doubt he’d get past Ciaran,” Logre tried to pacify, biting the inside of his mouth to prevent a smirk from appearing on his lips.

“Sir Logre!”

Logre sighed loudly and reluctantly turned his attention back to the blonde-haired woman. “Hm?”

“I am seeking your attention,” she said in a purely agitated and somewhat undignified manner. “Why would you ignore me for such a lowly explorer?”

Logre narrowed his eyes while Isiah raised an eyebrow, hardly impressed. However, before any more terse words or insults could be exchanged, the familiar sight of a Vessel wearing the colours of purple and pink scurried over to Isiah, excitedly tugging at his coat.

“Isiah!” Zoran said with a bright smile on his face. “I have located Prince Baldur for you. He is unwittingly heading in this direction. He should arrive at any moment.”

“Ah, good,” Isiah said as he patted the tiny vessel on the head, earning a cheerful squeak from him.

“Prince Baldur?” Neolani questioned with a puzzled look on her face before an expression of anger took its place and she drew her driveblade. “You dare to threaten the prince?

“I’d put that away if I was you,” Isiah said in a no-nonsense manner, using the hand he had on Zoran’s head to push the confused vessel behind him.

Neolani wouldn’t be intimidated and even went as far as to point her weapon at him. “A medic is no match for someone of my calibre,” she hissed.

Isiah narrowed his eyes and his body posture gave the slight indication what he was more than willing to prove her wrong. Not wanting it to reach that level of, er, defence (…bloodshed?), Logre decided it would be best if he interfered.

“Lower your weapon, soldier,” Logre commanded with a chilling voice, purposely placing himself between Isiah and Neolani, grasping fearlessly at the driveblade she so willingly wielded. “And stand down. I will not have you threaten my teammate in such a manner.”

A look of betrayal flickered across Neolani’s face and she momentarily tightened her grip on her drive blade. But she eventually lowered it when she realised that Logre was serious and that he was getting seriously annoyed. She finally pulled back, clenching her jaw tightly in a sign of clear frustration. She suddenly holstered her weapon and stalked away, silently furious.

Logre sighed and scratched the back of his neck. He may have defused the situation for now, but he knew that there were possibilities for more hostility in the future. He just hoped that she didn’t take her frustrations out on some innocent guild of rookies.

He understood that some of the Imperial Knights blamed the Pheadron Guild of interfering with Prince Baldur’s grand plan. But mostly, it was because of pride. A guild of different and unique explorers defeating the Yggdrasil Titan, succeeding in not only saving the Medium but their prince as well? Quite a blow to one’s ego.

“There you are, you little shit.”

Hearing Isiah’s terse words pulled Logre out of his musings and he glanced up just in time to see Baldur (who had been sneaking around in the shadows, it seemed) comically blanched when he heard Isiah’s voice, but he managed covered it up with a look of defiance.

“How dare you refer to me in such a manner?” he simpered in reply. He sounded superior, but the fact that he was also slowly backing away didn’t help with his facade.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Isiah asked as he walked over to him, Zoran trotting dutifully behind him.

Baldur took a half step back, sideway glancing at his surroundings to look for a quick exit. “I-I have things that I must attend to.”

“I don’t think so,” Isiah said. “Zoran, snare him, please.”

“Yes!” Zoran eagerly said as he grasped his spectre in his hands and raised it into the sky. “Snare Circle.”

The familiar circle of magic appeared around Baldur’s feet before the rebellious teen had the chance to react. Thick magical bindings snared his ankles, tying his legs together and prompting him to fall to the ground in surprise.

“Oof!” he uttered as he tried to sit up, looking absolutely flabbergasted. “W-what is the meaning of this?!”

“You know why,” Isiah retorted as he continued to approach his highness in a somewhat menacing manner. “Zoran, his arms, please.”

“Hm! Chain Circle!”

Baldur watched in muted shock as magical bindings appeared around his midsection, clamping his arms to his sides. He looked rather frightened when Isiah stopped before him, leaned forward and effortlessly scooped him off the ground.

“Appreciate it, Zoran,” Isiah said as he flung Baldur over his shoulder.

“I’m glad to have helped,” Zoran said in response, truly looking happy.

It took Baldur a moment or two to get over his shock. “Unhand me this instant!”

As a loyal knight of his highness, it was Logre’s duty to come to his aide whenever the need arose. However…he was also a member of guild Phaedron and had known Isiah for ten years. He knew better than most not to interfere with anything Isiah had put his mind to. He may be loyal to his highness, but he most certainly wasn’t stupid.

“Unhand the prince this instant!”

Fortunately for him, other Imperials rose to occasion. It won’t end well, but at least they were loyal enough to try. That was a plus, wasn’t it?

“What are you, a parrot?” Isiah snapped back as he continued to carry Baldur over his shoulder, effortlessly flicking his mace with his other hand. “I suggest you get out of my way.”

Two Imperial knights, decked out head to toe in heavy duty armour stood their ground, baring Isiah’s way back into the Grand Mark’s Court. “A medic is no match for-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isiah muttered as he continued his pace, idly flicking his mace, knocking the two of them out without any kind of visible effort on his part.

Baldur immediately stopped struggling when he laid his eyes on the two unconscious and twitching forms of his Imperials. “D-did you just knock out two of my knights?”

“Yup,” Isiah said as he carried him up the steps and inside the court. “Do you want to join them? Then keep still. You’re still recovering.”

“Isiah and Baldur have a very interesting relationship,” Zoran said with a sense of awe in his voice, absolutely fascinated with how Isiah and Baldur interacted with each other.

Logre roughly scratched at his stubbled cheek. Prince Baldur was going to be in a rather bad mood for the rest of the day. He should probably check on him later.

In a few hours.

After Isiah calmed down.

And released his hold on his mace.

… … … … …

It was early afternoon when Logre found the courage to visit his prince. Hopefully Baldur was in better shape and, ah, mood then he was earlier that day.

“Good day, Count,” Logre greeted when he passed the older man amongst the many winding hallways, seemingly coming from the wing Baldur was currently recuperating in.

“Ah, Logre,” Count greeted with a friendly smile. “Here to visit Prince Baldur, I presume?”

“That’s right. He…Prince Baldur hasn’t been very complying with Isiah lately.”

Count chuckled loudly with some amusement. “Yes, I heard all about it. But Isiah has quite a large amount of patience.”

He wasn’t sure if patience was the right word.

“I best see him then,” Logre said. “Thanks again for your continuing support.”

“Yes yes. Take care now.”

Continuing his way through the hallways, it took didn’t take Logre long to locate the room his prince was staying in. And from the looks of relief on the faces of the guards by the door, one Imperial the other Tharsis, Isiah was currently elsewhere.

“Prince Baldur, how are you feeling?” Logre asked as he stepped into the room, immediately spying the sickly teenager sitting up in the bed with an irritated expression on his face. He, however, was still in bed.

“I am fine,” Baldur immediately replied. “That medic, however, believes that I have acquired a fever. Utter nonsense.”

Logre chose not to comment about the light flush to his cheeks, nor the way he appeared flustered and slightly disorientated. Instead, he simply sat down in a chair that had been pulled up by his bed.

“He is indeed a formidable opponent,” Baldur murmured suddenly, clearly speaking of Isiah. “He would make an excellent Imperial.”

Logre winced at the thought. “I think it would be best that Isiah doesn’t learn how to use a Driveblade, your majesty,” he commented. Isiah was deadly with a mace, imagine what the man could do with a driveblade?

After a moment of thought, Baldur, too, looked somewhat pale and uneasy by the notion. “…Y-yes, perhaps you are right.”

“Didn’t I tell you to get some sleep?”

Logre winced and Baldur paled. However, despite what had happened only hours ago, Baldur refuses to relinquish his defiant nature.

“I am not tired.”

When Isiah made no attempt to verbally respond, instead to simply narrow his eyes and walk toward the bed, Logre knew that his prince was in trouble. But what kind of trouble, that was the question.

“Zoran?” Immediately, the face of a vessel was seen peering into the room from the door. “Come here, please.”

“W-what are you planning now, fiend?” Baldur spluttered as Zoran toddled into the room and stopped by the bed, looking curiously and fearlessly at Baldur.

Isiah stared directly at Baldur. “Sleep circle, please.”

“Yes!” Zoran immediately replied and gripped his staff again, about to bring it high into the air.

“Wait!” Baldur practically shrilled as he scurried up the bed to press himself against the bed head. “Wait, wait. Let’s negotiate this, yes?”

“Hmm…No.”

As soon as Isiah said that, Zoran activated Sleep circle, immediately causing Baldur to fall into a deep sleep, falling haphazardly onto the bed.

Logre could only sigh as he immediately set about moving Baldur into a more comfortable position on the bed, tucking him in. “Isiah, could you stop that?”

“I could. But I won’t,” Isiah said with a shrug. “Just be grateful that I didn’t use Knock-out Blow.”

“Right…”

Motherly, Isiah most certainly was not.


	3. Chapter 3

Working on and building airships had always been something Ciaran thrived on. Ever since his dad pulled him in on the reworking on a strange abandoned wreck found in the Windy Plains, he had enjoyed every second of his new career. Having the freedom to make improvements and customizing parts that can be interchanged with his dad was the highlight of his life.

Even with his father’s untimely death (ironically, in an airship crash in the Windy Plains), he found refuge within the wharf and designing airships. He wanted to build bigger and better airships to aide Tharsis and the exploration of surrounding lands.

But lately, every repair and repatch was tainted with a sense of confusion and frustration.

He didn’t have to time to think of new strategies or new designs. He was constantly, without exaggeration, rebuilding damaged airships. And with the increase in population of Tharsis, there were a lot of airships under his watch. He was doing to repatching himself as no one knew airships better than he did.

And, unfortunately, he held a slight suspicion that…the damages weren’t accidents. He didn’t want to use the word sabotage, but…

“You’re making a patchwork?” a voice suddenly questioned, obviously trying to be a smartass.

Ciaran pressed his lips together in a thin line as he glanced over the side of the airship he was working on. Of course Xander was there to witness every single airship as they limped back to port. What the hell was with that guy, anyway? If Xander hated his airships so much, why was he constantly hanging around at the wharf?

Something wasn’t right about him. He made him feel edgy.

“Oh shut up and hand me that hammer,” Ciaran ordered as he reached for another piece of wood.

Surprisingly, Xander did just that. He picked up the hammer and tossed it toward him, but not at him, so there wasn’t a threat of misjudging and getting clobbered himself. Ciaran felt surprised, but decided not to comment on it. He was too tired and annoyed to get into a verbal confrontation anyway.

“Chief.” Wiglaf’s voice caused him to pause in his work and glance over the side of the airship again. He couldn’t help but frown when he realised that the brown-haired dancer was accompanying a rather portly and official looking man. The guy didn’t look happy, and neither did Wiglaf.

“You have a visitor,” Wiglaf continued as she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, toward the older man. “From Grand Mark’s Court.”

Speaking of verbal confrontations.

Truthfully, Ciaran had been expecting to see one of those guys sooner. Officials from the court. Count wouldn’t have sent him. Some of the so-called Men of Mark’s Court tended to do things their own way.

Making no attempt to hide his distain, Ciaran dropped his tools and made his way off the airship. He didn’t want to talk to the guy, but he also didn’t want him on his wharf and in his face. And the only way to get rid of that was to deal with them head on.

“We’ve received several complaints about the airships,” the man said the moment Ciaran was close enough.

“Is that so?”

Great. Instead of just simply complaining to him, some of the guilds are complaining to the court as well. Ugh. As if he needed more pressure.

“I think it would be best if you look into it,” the official looking man continued, looking rather uppity and huffy. “If a solution is not found…well, we might have to look for a new wharf-master.”

Ciaran felt himself tense. “Is that a threat?”

The official huffed again before replying “Business,” and walking off with a sense of superiority to his strides.

“Ugh, I can’t stand those guys,” Wiglaf spat the second the guy was out of earshot and turned to granted Ciaran a concerned look. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” Ciaran said with a forced smile on his lips to reassure the dancer. “They’ve been harping on me for ages.”

Wiglaf continued to look annoyed though. “It’s an empty threat, anyway. There’s no way anyone will allow you to be fired from being the wharf-master. Firstly, Count wouldn’t allow it and secondly, Guild Phaedron would raise hell.”

Wiglaf’s comments brought a small but real smile to his lips. He, however, shook his head a moment later and sighed. “Still…I’m also worried about all the damaged airships lately. And I don’t think it’s just because of rookie pilots.”

“What do you have in mind?” Wiglaf asked as she cocked a hip out to the side and placed her hand on her waist.

Ciaran was silent as he turned to look over at the airship he had been previously working on and he found his gaze flickering toward the dark armoured imperial standing nearby, also looking up at the airship.

“…All I can do is fixed what’s broken, I guess,” Ciaran said as he turned his attention back to Wiglaf. “I’ll be needing new materials, though.”

“Phaedrons will be more than happy to help,” Wiglaf helpfully supplied.

“Yeah.”

“Afterwards, why don’t you get some rest?” Wiglaf continued as she straightened her posture, giving him a rather gentle smile. “I’ll watch the wharf for you.”

Ciaran gave the brown-haired dancer a grateful look. “Thanks.”

Walking through the streets of Tharsis, Ciaran idly rolled his shoulders before placing his hand on the small of his back and stretching. His back was really starting to ache, which was no surprise as he had been hunched over blueprints and making repairs. He was pretty sure that he had lost some weight, too.

Of all the chaos at the wharf, there was one thing he was grateful for. The two airships, Duscha and Espiritu, hadn’t been damaged in anyway. Falkner was an expert pilot, along with Logre. Roxbury, Bryce and Achyuta were also some bloody good pilots, too. And either or both of the airships were usually in the air, doing some mapping or conducting other investigations.

Both airships were very important to Tharsis as they were the greatest support to guild Phaedron. He didn’t want to think what would happen should either airship be damaged. They were and always will be his first and top priority. It was the least he could offer such an important and beloved guild of Tharsis.

Reaching the Researchers’ Clinic, Ciaran was surprised to find the front door wide open, yet he couldn’t hear the loud rumbling of voices and conversation. He was almost hesitant to head up the stairs and peek inside.

“Hello?”

Weird. The door was open, but no one appeared to be inside. Where could they have gone in such a hurry?

…Maybe someone was in the back garden?

Quickly making his way through the eerily silent house, it was an intense relief to see Nitish amongst the plants and flowers, the blond-haired runemaster silently gathering herbs with a slight smile on his face. To see him looking so peaceful meant that there was nothing to worry about, right?

“Hey, Nitish,” Ciaran called out as he approached the blond.

“Ciaran,” Nitish said in return, his smile becoming friendlier. “Welcome.”

“The place is so empty,” Ciaran couldn’t help but comment as he scratched the back of his neck. “Kinda, yeh know…creepy?”

Nitish made a light noise of agreement as he picked up a wicker basket filled with fresh herbs and flowers. “Unnervingly quiet, yes.”

“Where is everyone?”

Nitish continued to smile as he balanced the basket against his hip. “Scattered throughout Tharsis on errands.”

Ciaran blinked before a smile also appeared on his lips. “…Baldur made a runner, huh?”

A laugh from the blond was all the answer he needed. Ciaran could imagine what had happened. Isiah must have been pretty pissed off for the guild to scatter like they had. That dumb kid really didn’t know his limitations, did he?

He just hoped the brat didn’t make it to the wharf. Speaking of which…

“Can I ask yeh something?”

“Yes, of course,” Nitish immediately replied, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side in both curiosity and concern. He was probably sensing his unease about matters with the wharf.

Ciaran reached up to toy with his aviator goggles, something he did out of habit. “Yeh know much about Xander?”

Nitish was silent for a moment as he lowered his gaze to the ground, an expression of contemplation on his face. “…The man you are requiring about is trustworthy,” he unexpectedly whispered.

“Yeah?” Ciaran had to admit that he was surprised by that. After what happened, what Xander did to Nitish, one would think that he would resent him the most. Nitish was a lot more forgiving then Ciaran would be.

“He’s causing you concern?” Nitish asked him as he raised his gaze toward him again.

Ciaran was hesitant to express his full concerns. He didn’t want to be jumping the gun, as it were. Making untrue accusations about anyone or anything. But he also knew that he won’t be able to hide his concern. Not from this guild.

“…Something’s happening at the wharf,” he admitted. “I’m just being cautious.”

A softly pained look suddenly appeared on Nitish’s face and he glanced off to the side. “…A small group of imperials have been causing some concern lately.”

Ciaran blinked. So it wasn’t just him. “How so?”

“Just little things,” Nitish continued, shaking his head seemingly in disbelief and frustration. “They aren’t exactly complying with the rules of Tharsis.” He suddenly turned to look directly at Ciaran. “Just…be extra vigilant.”

“I will,” Ciaran immediately replied.

Truthfully, he felt a little bit better. He wasn’t the only one who was uneasy by the invisible cloud of tension that hung over Tharsis. Hopefully, it was just that the Imperials were restless and finding it difficult to adjust to the life of Tharsis and the Windy Plains. Tharsis, after all, was completely different to the life the Imperials lived in the Cloudy Stronghold.  
   
Ciaran was pulled from his musings by loud noises from inside the residence. It sounded like a group of people suddenly entered. The guild had returned, it seemed. They must have found Baldur if that was the case.

“Nitish, I need you to make something for this idiot.”

Glancing over to the door leading inside, it wasn’t at all surprising or startling to see Isiah standing there with a struggling Baldur over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Isiah, however, looked annoyed and somewhat haggard. The kid was really pushing his luck, wasn’t he?

“Of course,” Nitish said in reply to Isiah’s command. “A fever?”

“Again.”

“I demand that you put me down this instant!” Baldur shrilled as he continued to struggle. “T-this is completely undignified!”

“I don’t give into demands,” Isiah retorted with a roll of his eyes, easily balancing Baldur on his shoulder. “It’s your own fault.”

Ciaran really couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for the prince.

“Ciaran,” Isiah suddenly called out to him, his voice both firm and stern. “I want to talk to you.”

Ciaran immediately tensed, a sense of dread washing over him. “R-right now? I was about to take a nap, yeh know?” he spluttered in response.

Isiah abruptly narrowed his eyes at him, looking at him with that fearsomely critical stare of his. “You better be,” he abruptly said before turning on his heel and stalking back inside.

“Whew, that was close,” Ciaran murmured aloud as he dropped his shoulders in relief. He couldn’t help but think of Isiah as a hypocrite, though. The guy looked like he hadn’t slept a wink for days either!

“Ciaran, there you are.” Varuna’s voice was a welcome distraction. “We were looking for you.”

“What’s up?”

“You’ve been looking for materials to patch up airships, right?” Varuna asked, of which Ciaran confirmed with a quick nod of his head. “Well Biast says that the Golden Lair has some Steel Earth and Crystal Vines that might prove useful to you.”

Ciaran held his chin in thought for a moment. “Yeah? I don’t think I’ve worked with them yet.”

“Neither have we,” Varuna admitted as he pushed back his long white hair. “We’re heading there today. We’ll make sure to get plenty.”

“That would be great,” Ciaran said with a genuine smile of relief and gratitude. “I really need the materials at the moment.”

Varuna furrowed his brow slightly, looking both concerned and puzzled. “Not more damaged airships?”

Ciaran sighed and nodded his head as he glanced off to the side. “Yeah, afraid so. Some of the higher ups are starting to ask questions.” And making threats.

“Pay them no attention. We never did,” Varuna said in a slightly dismissive manner as they both moved inside. “If they get too bossy, though, sic Isiah after them.”

Ciaran had to laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”

… … … … …

Dropping a bag filled with stones and ores, Bryce straightened his posture and rolled his shoulder. “Did we get enough?”

“Enough for now,” Varuna answered as he carefully placed the strange crystal like vines into soft packing material, keeping them safe and protected for the journey back to Tharsis. “This is all we can carry at the moment.”

The excursion to Golden Lair was thankfully complication free. The monsters and other obstacles weren’t as daunting as they were when the first stepped inside the naturally formed pathways. After everything, it was nice to have a simple and easy outing.

Still, they had better get back to Tharsis. There was more work to be done yet.

“We better get going then,” Bryce suddenly said, as if he had read Varuna’s thoughts. “If we leave now, we should be home by morning.”

“Sounds good,” Varuna said.

“Before we leave, I would like to have a word with you, Varuna,” Biast suddenly requested, surprising Varuna somewhat.

However, had also wanted to speak with their guild’s bushi. He had been acting rather particular lately. As if something was bothering him.

“Alright,” Bryce said without an iota of concern or confusion. “I gotta round up Falkner and Miach anyway. Knowing Miach, he’s probably lost…Once I get a hold of them, we’ll carry this load to the Duscha.”

Biast bowed his head slightly in gratitude. “I will not take much of your time.”

But Bryce waved him off. “It’s fine. See ya in a bit.”

Leaving their gathered materials behind for the time being, Bryce wandered off in search for the rest of their party, his hand idly toying with the handle of his weapon. Varuna watched him leave out of habit before turning his attention to Biast, a curious expression on his face.

“There is something I must confess to you,” Biast suddenly admitted. “There is another reason why I wished for you to visit Golden Lair.”

That really gained Varuna’s interest. “What is it?”

“Come,” Biast beckoned with a wave of his hand (paw?). “I will show you.”

Varuna trailed silently behind Biast as he was led through the Sentinel’s village, to an eastern room. Biast then turned south and led him to a somewhat familiar area, yet a place Varuna hadn’t really visited before. He knew of the area as it was close to the place where he, Isiah and Kirjonen confronted Logre during that time when he…

Never mind. It wasn’t important anymore.

“Graves?” Varuna couldn’t help but comment when Biast paused in front of the place of mourning.

Biast lowered his hulking frame and unexpectedly reached into the wreaths and flowers. He drew his hand back and sat down on the ground before the place of mourning. Following suit, Varuna knelt upon the ground, his legs folded underneath him, much like his brother did.

“Here,” Biast said as he suddenly presented the object to Varuna.

Curious, Varuna looked at the item sitting in Biast’s large hand before gasping loudly and quickly gathering it up into his own hands. “An Imperial badge?”

Biast nodded his head once before he placed his hands on his knees and turned his attention to the graves before them. “Ten years ago, my pack had met with three humans. One, a young woman clad in powerful armour. With her were two companions. A nightseeker and a runemaster.”

Varuna almost stopped breathing. “…There are others?” he whispered as the significance of the words dawned on him. “What happened to them?”

“I’m afraid I do not know,” Biast said as he lowered his head slightly, giving it a small shake. “My pack offered them hospitality; like that we are destined to do. They recuperated with us for a few days. However, despite our warnings of the treacherous paths, they would not stay.”

Varuna felt his heart drop. “They went out into the Sacred Mountains?” There was no way they could survive out there alone.

“They wished to return home,” Biast explained as he lifted his head slightly. “They did not want help.”

“They couldn’t have made it, could they?” Varuna found himself asking.

Once again, Biast sighed with a sense of sadness. “During a hunting excursion to Cramped Nest, we had stumbled across broken armour. And a strange weapon.”

“…A driveblade?”

“Yes. Not far, half hidden in the ice…” Biast shook his head sadly. “Our young female imperial fought valiantly.”

Varuna tightened his hand on the badge. “I see.”

How…how sad. To be so close to home, yet so far away at the same time. They must’ve been so frightened at the time.

“What happened to…?”

“That, I do not know,” Biast answered with a slight tang of bitterness and frustration in his voice. However, there was also a very small sense of hope there as well. “There were no other remains. It is possible that they are still alive. However small.”

Yeah. A small possibility.

Varuna glanced down at the badge again before carefully turning it over, to read the words on the back. The name of the owner. Claudia. He wondered if Logre knew her. No, he would have. He would have known the names of everyone chosen to aid the Emperor on his quest for salvation.

“…What was this imperial like?”

“Surprisingly sweet and gentle, especially toward her younger companions,” Biast explained, sounding rather reminiscent. “She was also fiercely protective of them.”

Varuna placed his hand over the name on the badge and glanced off to the side. “…I hope they are safe somewhere,” he whispered.

Biast sighed and nodded his regal head. “Yes.”

“Thank you, for telling me this,” Varuna said as he turned his attention back to the purple-furred bush. “It gives me a sense of hope that maybe Nitish and I aren’t the only survivors. That there are others like us out there.”

“I would like to meet the young ones again,” Biast softly admitted as his ear flicked back casually. He sounded somewhat hopeful, yet there was a sense of acceptance that it probably won’t be possible.

Varuna simply hummed in reply, not knowing what more he could say.

… … … … …

Ciaran had managed to get a few hours’ sleep during the night. Fitful, sure, but little sleep was better than none, right? Besides, there was little he could do until he got his hands on some fresh working materials. Guild Phaedron would pull through for him. They’ve always had, so there was no fear there.

He still hoped they would return soon. He, along with a few others, was starting to get antsy.

Stepping out of his office (and more often than not emergency bedroom), Ciaran found his attention drawn to a lone airship slowly pulling into to dock. Hm? That was an airship he hadn’t seen before. It was obviously an Imperial airship, but slightly smaller than others he had seen before.

Ciaran watched with some interest as the airship docked quickly, yet skilfully. The second the airship settled, a rope ladder was thrown from the gondola and a figure appeared, climbing down the rope half way before jumping to the ground the rest of the way, landing in the perfect position that made it appear they had done it several times before.

The imperial was slightly different, though. Bright red armour? That was a new one.

Standing in the middle of the wharf, seeming uncaring about the bustle of others around him, the imperial reached up and began to remove his helmet. When he lifted it up off of his head, Ciaran found his mouth dropping open in shock.

His hair was a light blond, a pony tail at the base of the neck and the bangs parted over his forehead. Thin rimmed glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, in front of a pair of cold blue eyes. He was tall and had broad shoulders; yet lean at the same time.

Except for the slightly different shade of hair and eyes, he looked just like…

“Achyuta?” Ciaran murmured, utterly confused.

Instead of the polite and friendly smile he was used to seeing Achyuta wear, the red-armoured stranger sharply turned his attention to him, a grin tainted that was both charming, yet dripping with wicked intent on his lips. His eyes were so cold and piercing, they immediately made Ciaran feel as if he had someone very dangerous looking at him.

“Hm?” the man murmured before strode over to him with a sense of intimidation in his steps. “Ah, so you know of my brother then?”

“B-brother?” Ciaran repeated as he took a step back, only to find himself colliding with a wall behind him.

“Shouldn’t it be obvious?” the man continued, looking at him with a sense of contempt in his gaze despite the charming smile. “Twins, actually.”

Ciaran felt incredibly nervous, especially when the man continued to approach him, pausing to stand right in front of him. He had absolutely no regard for other people’s personal space, it seemed. “He…he never mentioned anything about having a twin.”

The man suddenly slammed his hand against the wall beside Ciaran’s head, causing him to wince and draw in a sharp intake of air. He found himself holding that breath in when the red-armoured knight abruptly leaned forward, getting right up into his face.

“He wouldn’t,” he said. “I’m a painful memory, after all.”

“W-what does that mean?” Ciaran found himself stuttering.

He wagged a finger at him in a mocking manner. “You shouldn’t ask personal questions.”

Ciaran was starting to feel quite panicky and fearful. He could sense the guy’s aura easily and he had no training in such a skill. He could tell just by looking at him, hearing him speak that he possessed an enormous about of power and knowledge. He had dealt with a lot of egotistical explorers before, but this guy was on a whole other level.

“And you shouldn’t cause the citizens of Tharsis to become unsettled and uncomfortable.”

Before the Achyuta look-alike could continue with his intimidation, a black armoured hand suddenly and forcibly grasped at the arm that was being used to lean against the wall. A frown tugged on the supposed twin brother’s lips as he turned his attention to the owner of the hand somewhat restraining him.

Ciaran also turned to look, actually finding a sense of relief that the one coming to his aide (he was coming to his aide, right?) was Xander.

The red-armoured Imperial, however, didn’t look intimidated or impressed by Xander’s appearance. He, however, simply smiled in a conceited manner and pushed away from the wall, away from Ciaran, and put some distance between them. Not enough, mind you. He still lingered much too close. He wasn’t at all put out by Xander’s appearance. Even as Xander purposely pushed his way between them, standing almost protectively in front of Ciaran.

“Ah, yes, too true,” he said in regards to Xander before turning his attention to Ciaran, giving him a painfully insincere nod of his head. “Forgive me, wharf-master. And excuse me.”

“S-sure,” Ciaran stuttered as he stayed behind Xander, watching until the red-armoured knight was out of sight. When he was gone, he breathed a sigh of relief before turning to the other Imperial. “Do yeh know him?”

“No, I don’t,” Xander said as he kept his guard up, even as he took a couple of steps away from Ciaran. “His red armour…is unusual.”

“Um, hey, tha-”

“You’re too vulnerable,” Xander seemed to snap at him before wandering off, leaving Ciaran behind with an agitated twitch in his eye.

…And he had wanted to thank the bastard, too.

“I better warn Achyuta.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More twists and turns, huh? Next chapter shall be on Christmas Day, so you can think of it as a Christmas present from me :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! Just a quick update today as my Christmas gift to you :3 Let me know what you think!

Roxbury sat upon the top step leading into the Researcher’s Clinic, taking a moment to enjoy the sunshine, as well as to muse silently to himself. He had just returned from a meeting with the Count, who expressed his concerns about tensions between the locals of Tharsis and the struggling to adjust Imperial Knights.

In all honesty, Roxbury wasn’t entire sure what he or his guild could do. While some Imperials are indeed grateful to them for offering them the chance at freedom, other Imperials held a sense of resentment toward them. They held them responsible for the ultimate failure of the Titan, thus they were responsible for the failure to purge the Cloudy Stronghold of its toxins and poisons.

Majority of Imperials simply wanted to live their lives in Tharsis. However, because of a small group of knights causing trouble, all Imperials were regarded with a sense of wariness. Even with Logre and Achyuta vouching for some of them.

The small group, whom some of the council were referring to as Extremists because they were extremely frustrating and annoying (although, that wasn’t what ‘extremist’ meant…) hadn’t done anything heinous or destructive, but they were causing trouble and chaos by refusing to listen to anyone’s orders but their prince’s. And with Prince Baldur still needing powerful medical treatment, he was in no position to be barking orders at anyone.

“Hey, Roxbury!”

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Roxbury lifted his head up to see Tharsis’ beloved wharf-master hastily making his way over to him. “Ciaran? What’s the matter?”

Skidding to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, Ciaran was slightly breathless, as if he had ran all the way from the wharf. “Where’s Achyuta?”

“Oh, he’s helping Blayden and Fletcher deliver a new batch of medica to the Atelier,” Roxbury explained as he pushed himself to his feet and descended the stairs, somewhat confused and concerned by Ciaran’s state. He then glanced in the direction the weapon shop was located in and found himself trailing off. “He should be…”

The reason he trailed off, his words becoming lost, was the fact that there was a strange red-armoured Imperial standing only a few feet away from the boundary of the clinic. He stood purposely, with a highly confidence stance, directly in the path of which Achyuta and the two youngest brothers would take as they returned.

“Dammit.” He heard Ciaran curse to himself. “I was too late.”

Long hair, blue eyes, the exact same style of glasses…He looked just like Achyuta.  
Roxbury felt the compulsion to confront the Imperial, to find out who he was and what he wanted. If he had Ciaran in a slight panic, then Roxbury would hazard a guess that he was somewhat confrontational.

However, before he could move, Achyuta, Blayden and Fletcher appeared. The two younger explorers were a step or so in front of Achyuta, shoving and pushing at each other in a teasing, but friendly sort of way. Towering over the two, Achyuta simply looked amused as he carried a couple bag of ingredients.

However, that expression soon disappeared when Achyuta lifted his head up to see how close he was to the clinic and found his gaze colliding with that of the currently unnamed, but familiar imperial.

The bags that Achyuta were carrying abruptly fell to the ground with a thud and he stared with wide, unblinking eyes at the man before him. “…It can’t be.”

Startled, the two little brothers stopped what they were doing and immediately turned to look in the direction Achyuta was staring in, only to find themselves gaping in shock as well.

“Ah, dear little brother,” the red-armoured Imperial said in a mockingly polite and cheerful tone. “You’re doing well, I see.”

For some reason, Roxbury felt himself wince. Brother? That made a lot of sense, but he had never heard Achyuta even mention having a brother. After learning of all the brothers that made up their guild, that would have been one of the first things he would have told them.

As he wondered whether or not he should interfere, the door to the clinic abruptly opened. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. It was Nitish. He blond-haired runemaster stumbled over the threshold of the door and grasped onto Roxbury’s arm for support. He, however, didn’t take his eyes off Achyuta’s brother, an expression of shock on his face.

Since Nitish was looking like that, it meant that…the guy really was Achyuta’s brother.

“Zesiro?” Achyuta muttered, unable to take his eyes off his exact copy. “Is…is that really you?”

“We’re identical twins, brother,” the man known as Zesiro all but scoffed. “I should be somewhat familiar to you. Then again, it’s been a few years. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Well, aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Of course I am,” Achyuta immediately replied before he shook his head, as if he had a hard time understanding something. “B-but they told me you were dead.”

Zesiro gave Achyuta an insincerely pained look as he took a couple of steps toward him. “And you believed them? I’m hurt.”

“W-what else was I supposed to do?” Achyuta spluttered as everyone else shifted uncomfortably. “What happened to you? Where have you been?”

“Now now,” Zesiro said as he wagged his finger in Achyuta’s direction. “That’s not important.”

An expression of confusion tinged with anger appeared on Achyuta’s face as he, too, took a step forward. “What do you mean it’s not important? It’s been twelve years!”

Roxbury felt himself wincing again as Nitish gasped into his hand and Ciaran mutter something under his breath. The reunion between the two brothers was really starting to become confrontational.

“Yes, it’s been a while,” Zesiro said in a bewildering flippant manner before he folded his arms over his chest and gave Achyuta a rather pointed stare. “What I’m interested in, however, is how you helped in the defeat of the Titan.”

Achyuta was momentarily startled before he shook his head and gave his brother a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“I know all about your exploits in the Echoing Library,” Zesiro stated, arrogantly dismissive while also somewhat amused. “Quite the hero, aren’t you?”

Achyuta became silent as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. A flicker of disbelief and anger appeared in his eyes as he furrowed his brow. “…You believe that his highness should have allowed the Yggdrasil Titan to murder two innocent races?” he suddenly hissed out.

Zesiro’s expression also turned dark, his eyes narrowing in a fearsome manner. “I believe in the Cloudy Stronghold being free from toxins and poisons.”

“The Titan wouldn’t have made an ounce of difference!” Achyuta spat.

“We’ll never know now, will we?” Zesiro coolly retorted, his expression stony cold.

“Stop it!”

Before anyone could react, Nitish hurried down the stairs and placed himself in front of Achyuta, glaring with an uncharacteristic sense of anger in his usually calming eyes.

“Nitish?” Achyuta questioned, appearing startled. However, that soon turned into concern and he reached out to take Nitish by the shoulders to pull him back toward him, more than ready to shield him from his unpredictable but hostile brother.

“Achyuta did what was right,” Nitish said as he pulled slightly against Achyuta’s hands. “He followed his own beliefs and trust in the emperor. And he believes in the lives of others. How dare you judge him?”

For the first time since their confrontation started, Zesiro looked surprised and seemingly at a loss for words.

Achyuta, too, looked momentarily surprised before his gaze softened and he pull Nitish back toward his chest a tad more forcibly, immediately wrapping his arms around the blond. “Nitish…”

“Huh…” Zesiro unexpectedly murmured as he held his chin and leaned forward to study Nitish in an obnoxious manner. “It really is uncanny. Like a different palate.” He suddenly perked his head up, acting and looking as if he just realised Nitish had spoken to him. “Ah, sorry, what did you say?”

Achyuta immediately tightened his arms around Nitish as the blond-haired runemaster looked unsettled and uneasy. “…What are you staring at?”

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Zesiro questioned with little context to what he was referring to before turning his attention to Achyuta, finding some amusement in the way he was protectively holding Nitish. “Well, I must say I’m surprised, Achyuta. He’s quite beautiful.”

Roxbury felt a sense of protective anger wash over him and he quickly found himself descending the stairs, purposely placing himself in front of both Nitish and Achyuta.

“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” he said. “What is it exactly that you want?”

Once again, Zesiro was momentarily startled by yet another person butting in. He, however, didn’t seem all that put off by Roxbury’s appearance. “Ah, yes, a fortress, no?” he asked as he gave Roxbury to once over with his eyes, of which lingered much too long for Roxbury’s liken. “Hm...”

Roxbury was starting to feel a little bit more than pissed off. “What are you staring at?”

“Frankly, I'm a little disappointed,” Zesiro unexpectedly said as he gave a mocking sigh. “I thought you would be more...muscular. We imperials tower of you.”

Roxbury felt his eye twitch. “A few inches isn't towering over anyone.”

“Oh dear, seems like a struck a nerve,” Zesiro all but cooed at him in a manner that was absolutely infuriating. “My sincerest apologies. I guess I am just used to the muscular and towering forms of my fellow knights. Still, I can see that you are quite strong. Fitting to be the leader of the strongest guild in the four lands.”

“Your insincere compliments aren’t helping in anyway,” Roxbury swiftly retorted, not wanting the man to know how much he was starting to get under his skin, but also wanting him to known that he wasn’t going to be putting up with his bullshit.

An insincerely polite smile appeared on Zesiro’s lips. “What a shame.”

Roxbury folded his arms over his chest and gave Zesiro a pointed look. “I’ll ask again, what exactly is it that you want?”

“I simply wish to speak with my brother,” Zesiro replied as he momentarily took his eyes off of Roxbury to glance over at Achyuta and Nitish. “Why, is that a crime?”

It was if he was being an argumentative jackass. “Achyuta is a valued member of this guild.”

Zesiro lifted his chin up a slight fraction and rose an eyebrow as he turned his focus back to Roxbury. “Which translate to…?”

“If you have any grievances with him, you have grievances with us all,” Roxbury stated as he easily held Zesiro’s gaze. “And I’d like to think you’re not that stupid.”

“Is that so?” Zesiro easily heard the challenge in his words and although his smile stayed on his lips, his eyes narrowed. He then fell silent and Roxbury could feel a heavy sense of tension filling the air. Surely, the other man wouldn’t actually turn their verbal confrontation into a physical one?

“Well, yes, I guess you’re right,” Zesiro suddenly said as he seemed to back down and became quite flippant again. “The past is past, after all. Forgive and forget.”

Roxbury still felt somewhat tense, but he felt that any physical danger had past.

“I am pleased to see you’re well, brother,” Zesiro continued as he glanced over at his twin. “But I must bid farewell for now. I’m sure we’ll see each other around. After all, imperials are refugees of Tharsis.”

Zesiro then gave a mocking bow of his head before turning on his heel and began to walk away, his back straight and his shoulders somewhat tense.

“W-wait, Zesiro!” Achyuta called out, causing the red-armoured Imperial to pause and glance over his shoulder. “I really am glad you’re alive.”

Zesiro said nothing in reply. However, it might have just been Roxbury’s imagination, but he was fairly certain he saw genuine pain in the guy’s eyes before he turned away and continued walking away.

A suffocating and awkward silence descended over the group. Achyuta looked so pained, but no one was entirely sure of what to say.

“Achyuta?” Nitish questioned softly as he gently touched the side of Achyuta’s face with his hand.

Achyuta shook his head and slowly loosened his arms around Nitish, taking a step back. A painfully confused expression appeared on his face. “Sorry, I need a moment.”

With another shake of his head, Achyuta spun on his heel and quickly walked away, heading in the direction of the park. One could easily see the tension in his back and shoulders. Roxbury couldn’t even begin to imagine the inner torment and questioning Achyuta was going through.

He shouldn’t be alone.

“Go after him, Nitish,” Roxbury prompted.

Nitish turned to look at him, a sense of pain in his own eyes before nodding his head gratefully and quickly hurrying in the direction Achyuta disappeared in.

“We’ll leave these in the kitchen,” Blayden said suddenly as he leant down to scoop up the bags that Achyuta dropped in his shock.

“Ok,” Roxbury said as he allowed the younger two to head back inside, unfairly solemn and tense. When they were inside, he turned his attention back to the wharf-master, who of which seemed to have tried to warn them about Zesiro. “Ciaran?”

“Sorry I wasn’t quick enough,” Ciaran said, looking apologetic and awkward. “I met him at the wharf. He wasn’t exactly friendly.”

Roxbury nodded his head in understanding. “I see. He seems…a bit antagonistic.” His gaze flickered toward the direction Achyuta and Nitish disappeared in and he felt himself frowning. “I hope Achyuta’s all right.”

Once again, the two fell silent, both becoming lost in their own thoughts.

Roxbury could barely believe it. Achyuta’s twin brother? They looked similar, yes. But their personalities…they couldn’t be more different. Achyuta was placid and peaceful. Zesiro seemed conceited and hostile. Even the man’s red armour was a stark contrast to the blue armour Achyuta would wear whenever he visited the Cloudy Stronghold.

“Hey, we’re back!”

Roxbury shook his head to clear it as he glanced up to see Varuna, Bryce, Falkner, Biast and Miach walking toward the clinic, in their arms a multitude of materials and items.

“We got the materials you wanted, Ciaran.”

“Oh, ah, thanks,” Ciaran muttered, appearing startled out of his own thoughts.

Varuna immediately paused and gave both Ciaran and Roxbury a somewhat concerned gaze. His eyes quickly flickered over to Bryce, whom of which looked baffled himself. Varuna tilted his head to the side while Bryce shrugged.

“…What happened?” Varuna asked as he turned his gaze back to Roxbury.

Roxbury sighed as he roughly ran a hand through his hair before indicting to the clinic. “Come inside and I’ll explain.”

“I’ll head back to the wharf,” Ciaran said as he retrieved the materials from a still confused Varuna. “Thanks again, Varuna. I’ll pop by later to tell yeh how they worked out.”

“Oh, ah, sure,” Varuna murmured as he relinquished his hold on his materials before quickly hurrying inside the clinic.

With everyone sitting down in the seating room, Roxbury proceeded to tell them what had occurred only just recently. He told what he had heard, keeping to the facts. He kept his personal thoughts about the matter to himself for now. He didn’t like the vibe he got from Zesiro, but he was still Achyuta’s brother. And until he found out how Achyuta was feeling about the whole situation, it would be best if he didn’t cause further confusion for their Imperial.

“What?” Varuna spluttered, looking greatly startled. “Achyuta has a twin brother?”

Bryce furrowed his brow in confusion. “He never mentioned it.”

Roxbury gave them both a somewhat sad smile. “That’s because he thought, no, he was told that he was dead.”

A look of pained empathy appeared on Varuna’s face and he quickly glanced off to the side. “Oh…” he simply breathed.

“So, what’s he like?” Bryce asked after a moment of quiet.

Roxbury pressed his lips together in thought for a moment. “Saved for the lighter blond hair and colder eyes, he looks exactly like Achyuta. Totally different personalities, though.”

Varuna furrowed his brow as he tried to imagine it. “That must be rather unnerving.” He shook his head and turned to show Roxbury a concerned expression. “Is he all right? Achyuta, I mean.”

“He’s in shock,” Roxbury answered as he gave a sombre smile. “Who wouldn’t be? Nitish is with him.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Varuna muttered, to himself more than to anyone else.

“Hm? Did something happen?”

“Logre, good,” Roxbury said the moment he heard the older man’s voice and he spun around to face him. “Mind if I ask you something? About Achyuta’s brother?”

Placing his hand on the back of the couch and leaning against it, Logre looked puzzled. “Achyuta’s brother? He doesn’t have one that I know of.”

“I see,” Roxbury murmured, slightly defeated but not all that surprised. “Thought that it would be a surprise to you, too.”

While Logre won’t be able to answer his questions regarding the mysterious twin, that fact that he never knew of him, never heard of him, actually said quite a lot.

“Wait,” Logre drawled out, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. “He does have a brother?”

“Twin, actually,” Roxbury confirmed. “Almost the spitting image of him.”

Logre shifted his stance slightly as he looked to the side in thought. “I trained Achyuta before becoming the Emperor’s knight. I’ve never heard anything about a twin.”

“Nitish says that he’s genuine,” Roxbury added.

“I see,” Logre murmured, his expression becoming troubled. “This is rather unsettling…”

Yeah…it was.

… … … … …

It wasn’t at all hard for Nitish to locate Achyuta in the park. His emotions were in complete disarray, which was of no surprise. They were so intense that if Nitish was out in the Windy Plains, he would be able to locate him easily.

Slowly, Nitish approached him. Achyuta was sitting on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the park, his head in his hands, his glasses resting haphazardly atop his head. Achyuta’s confusion and heartache was bringing tears to his own eyes, but he pushed them back. If he started crying, Achyuta would immediately try to comfort him, pushing aside his own need. Nitish didn’t want that.

“He is my brother, isn’t he?” Achyuta asked him suddenly, never removing his hands from his face.

Nitish swallowed thickly as he carefully sat down next to him. “He was being truthful when he said that, yes.”

When he felt a sudden spike of guilt and anger in Achyuta’s aura, Nitish carefully and gently rested his head on Achyuta’s shoulder, letting him know that he was there for him.

“I’m relieved,” Achyuta suddenly murmured as he lowered his hands from his face and rested lethargically against his knees. “But I’m also angry. He’s alive. I thought he was dead.”

He then curled a hand into a fist and turned to look at Nitish, pain still obvious in his eyes. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Nitish really couldn’t answer that. “The empire is filled with secrets and unanswered questions,” he said in response, lifting his hand to gently touch the side of Achyuta’s face again, gently letting him know that his anger and confusion was acceptable.

Achyuta sighed and placed his hand atop of Nitish. “…What else could they be hiding?”

That, unfortunately, was a good question.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!

It had been several hours since the revealing of Achyuta’s long thought to be dead twin and Varuna, along with everyone else, was starting to get worried. The gentle imperial hadn’t returned to the clinic yet, and neither had Nitish. Falkner had reassured that he had spied the two in the park simply talking and the area was peaceful, but Roxbury still headed out in search of the mysterious twin to ensure that he didn’t cause any other trouble. Logre had wandered off with him, wanting to see this twin with his own eyes.

The man, after all, seemed resentful to both Achyuta and the fact that he aided in the defeat of the Titan. There was a strong possibility that he was one of the many other imperials who felt that the Titan was their only salvation.

As he sat in the seating room, waiting for his brother and his brother’s love to return, Varuna toyed with the imperial badge that Biast showed him back at the Golden Lair. He wanted to tell Nitish about the possibility of others like them, about the possibility of learning more about the emperor’s desperate voyage through the four lands. He also wanted to show him the badge, knowing that Nitish would be most interested in studying it. He may even be able to give them some insight of the emotions and spirituality of the former owner.

But after what happened today, he wasn’t sure he should mention it until they somehow dealt with Achyuta’s seemingly antagonistic brother.

Varuna was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the front door opening. He immediately took to his feet when Nitish stepped silently inside, looking just a little bit washed out.

“Nitish, how’s Achyuta?” Varuna asked as he rushed over to his brother, only to pause in his steps when he noticed a presence behind him.

Although looking rather weary, Achyuta gave a small smile as he and Nitish moved further inside. “I’m fine,” he said as he closed the door quietly behind him.

Varuna wasn’t all that convinced. “Really?”

The smile on his face slipped and Achyuta released a sigh. “I don’t know what had happened to my brother the last twelve years, but I am relieved that he’s still alive.” He then shook his head sadly. “Even if he seems to resent me somehow…”

Varuna didn’t know how to respond to that so simply nodded his head and decided not to press the other man. It was obvious that he was still bewildered and hurt by what had happened, though.

“Varuna?” Nitish suddenly questioned as he reached out with his hand to touch Varuna’s arm. An expression of puzzlement appeared on his face as he looked down at the item Varuna was holding in his hand. “That item?”

“Oh,” Varuna murmured as he lifted his hand, presenting it to Nitish to take. “Biast gave it to me.”

As Nitish carefully picked up the item, Achyuta glanced over Nitish’s shoulder at it as well, and furrowed his brow in confusion. “An imperial badge?”

“It’s something Biast had wanted to tell us for a while,” Varuna explained as he made a slight motion toward the seating area with his hand. “But we’ve been so busy lately.”

Clutching the badge tightly in one hand, Nitish automatically reached out to take Achyuta’s hand in his other, guiding the other to the seating area and taking a seat. As Achyuta sat down next to him, Nitish turned his attention back to Varuna. “What is it?”

Varuna sat down upon the couch opposite Nitish and Achyuta. And as he relayed what Biast had told him earlier that day, Nitish was equally shocked and hopeful. Achyuta looked just as intrigued and surprised by the revelation.

“There were others like us?” Nitish questioned as he gently ran his thumb over the eccentric imperial emblem of the badge.

Varuna nodded his head. “It seemed that way.”

Nitish nodded his head slowly, allowing the information to sink in before he began to chew on his bottom lip nervously. “Do…do you think Logre might know more?”

“I don’t see the harm in asking,” Varuna said with a shrug.

Logre, after all, was more forthcoming with any information he knew about imperials and the empire since Baldur became Isiah’s patient. In some way, it was a relief to him, to finally get everything he had been forced to hide for ten years off of his chest.

“I would like to search for them,” Nitish suddenly said as he clutched the badge against his chest. “As least…for their existence.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” Varuna admitted. Truth be told, he had wanted to go out there in search the minute Biast told him, but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t be hasty. And, well…

A softly pained expression abruptly appeared on Nitish’s face and he glanced over to Achyuta. “But…”

…They still had to deal with Achyuta’s twin.

“I think you should,” Achyuta immediately encouraged, squeezing Nitish’s hand reassuringly.

Nitish still looked hesitant and unsure. “What about-?”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Achyuta reiterated with an understanding expression before becoming serious, a frown on his lips. “I’d like…to find out more about the empire myself, to be honest. They’re…good at hiding secrets, apparently.”

As they lulled into a contemplative silence, Varuna couldn’t help but feel that Achyuta had a very good point. Logre may have been chosen to accompany that Emperor himself on his voyage, but not even he could know all of the empire’s secrets.

Surely, they would have a back-up plan of some kind if the Titan didn’t work the way they had hoped, right?

The silence was broken by the sound of the front door opening and two tall men stepped inside, still conversing with one another.

“Zesiro, huh?” Logre muttered as he roughly scratched the back of his neck. “I see what you mean now.”

Looking surprisingly frustrated, Roxbury nodded his head. “Never heard of him?”

Logre simply shook his head.

Roxbury looked at Logre for a moment before sighing and turning his gaze elsewhere. His eyes soon widen, though, when he noticed that the seating area was occupied. His wariness smoothed into relief when he noticed that Achyuta had returned, seemingly in one piece.

“Achyuta? You’re back.”

“Yes. Sorry about earlier,” Achyuta said as he took to his feet, looking slightly embarrassed and apologetic. “I take it you went in search of my brother?”

“We did…” Roxbury trailed off, making a slight gesture with his hand that he didn’t really want to discuss further while Logre roughly scratched at the stubble of his chin, his gaze to the floor in thought.

Deciding that it would be best to change the topic of conversation, Varuna stood up and silently retrieved the imperial badge from Nitish. He then took a step toward Logre.

“Logre?” Varuna questioned, gaining the older man’s attention immediately. “Do you remember someone called Claudia?”

Logre was momentarily startled by the question, but he soon furrowed his brow as a flash of recognition appeared in his eyes. “…I do, actually.”

“Here.” Varuna presented Logre with the badge, the other man taking it in surprise. He glanced at the back of the badge and pressed his lips together into a thin line.

“She…her airship crashed in the Sacred Mountains,” Varuna explained as he shuffled slightly on his feet in a nervous manner. “She, along with her charges, a Nightseeker and a Runemaster, survived the crash. Biast and the Sentinels took care of them, but…they tried to go home.”

Logre released a slow breathe, his shoulders sagging slightly as he glanced down at the badge he held in his hand. “I see…”

It was really…sad. Were they confirming that Logre, along with Varuna and Nitish, were the only survivors?

“…Nitish and I, we want to find them,” Varuna continued with a solemn expression on his face. “To put them at peace as well.”

“Ah, then you should,” Roxbury suddenly said.

Varuna turned to face his guild leader, both apologetic and grateful. “Is it alright?”

“Of course it is,” Roxbury said with a gentle smile. “I’m sure Falkner will be happy to fly you there. Biast should go, too. He may know a more approximate location rather than the entire Sacred Mountains.”

“He had always wondered what happened to those two, so this should be good for him as well,” Varuna commented with a smile, knowing that their bushi would indeed be willingly to help them with their search.

“I’ll go, too,” Logre said as he handed the badge back to Varuna, who in turn gave it to Nitish to keep a hold of. He was, ah, better at it, after all. “It’s the least I can do.”

“You should head out in the morning,” Roxbury stated before unexpectedly reaching forward and placing a hand on Achyuta’s shoulder. “Until then, try to get some rest.”

Achyuta looked somewhat surprised that Roxbury seemed to be directing that command toward him. “Hm?”

“You’re going with them, Achyuta.”

“But-” Achyuta was ready to protest but became silent when Roxbury squeezed his shoulder.

“Leave that brother of yours to me for now. I’ll find out what he’s up to,” he said in a way that was both understanding and firm. “You go and learn as much as you can about the empire.”

“Thank you,” Achyuta said as he reached up to grasp at Roxbury’s wrist, eternally grateful for his unwavering support. “I appreciate it.”

Varuna and Nitish shared a quick look, both of them thinking the exact same thing.

They really were lucky to have such a kind-hearted and compassionate leader.

… … … … …

Stepping out of his room at the inn and onto the small balcony outside, Roxbury rested his elbows on the railing and stared out at the quiet nightlife of Tharsis. He was unable to sleep. Something was bothering him. No, someone was bothering him.

Zesiro.

It was hard to believe that he was Achyuta’s twin. Besides their appearances, they were nothing alike. Of course, he had only met him once, but his hostility was rather blatant and surprising.

After the confrontation between Achyuta and Zesiro, he and Logre went in search of the antagonist twin. They looked all over Tharsis for his brother, thinking it shouldn’t be that difficult looking for a tall red-armoured imperial amongst the throngs of everyday locals and rookie guilds. But it was. They only managed glimpses of him before he would smirk in their direction and slip away.

Roxbury got the distinct feeling that Zesiro was toying with them.

That red armoured imperial was up to something. Roxbury hadn’t a clue what that could possibly be and that kinda ticked him off. It took all his energy dealing with the unknown and uncertainties of the many labyrinths and grottoes. He didn’t want to deal with a mysterious imperial in town as well.

A flash of read from the corner of his eye suddenly caught his attention. Turning to look out of idle curiosity, Roxbury immediately found himself tensing. That flash of red happened to be from red armour.

Why was Zesiro standing outside the inn? What was he playing at now?

Zesiro suddenly looked up in his direction and they locked gazes, Roxbury unwillingly drawing in a sharp breath. Despite the distance between them, he could clearly see Zesiro’s cool blue eyes staring right through him.

Was it ironic or suspicious that he had spent all day searching for that very man only to have him suddenly catch him off guard?

Zesiro’s face was stoic as he fearlessly looked at him. Roxbury hated to admit it, even to himself that he was starting to feel very nervous and somewhat…vulnerable. The way Zesiro carried himself, his driveblade in a casual grip in his hand, the squareness of his shoulders, his feet apart and planted firmly on the ground – he looked as formable as he felt.

He was…unsettling.

Roxbury had faced down many a FOE and monster, of which he had strong reservation and nervousness about. What adventurer and explorer didn’t feel edgy around any kind of monster?

And yet, as Zesiro stared him down, Roxbury had to battle within himself to stand his ground. To turn around and go back inside was extremely inviting.

However, after a few more intense moments, Zesiro suddenly smiled at him. Not a real smile, mind you. A wickedly charming one, as if he was somewhat intrigued by something. Zesiro made a motion with his hand, bidding him farewell before slipping into the shadows of the night.

No longer seeing the red armoured imperial didn’t offer the reassurance Roxbury had wanted. Instead, he felt edgy and puzzled. Why was Zesiro standing outside the inn? Why had he stared at him for so long?

Roxbury didn’t know what Zesiro’s motives were, but he had to find out. Achyuta and Nitish had been through enough trauma already.

…He better keep what happened tonight to himself.

… … … … …

The Sacred Mountains…

It was as cold and as hazardous as ever.

Of all the lands Falkner had flown through, the Sacred Mountains was his least favourite. Sure, it was beautiful with the snow glistening under the sunlight or moonlight, but the falling snow, the swirling twisters, narrow valleys and the flying FOEs took all his concentration. If there was anything good to say about the place was that he was too busy trying not to crash that he paid little mind to the frigid cold.

Mercifully, thanks to Ciaran’s ingenuity and the Black Flame, Duscha was able to fly at higher altitudes, so flying was a tad easier. The threat of FOEs was still very potent, though.

Steering the Duscha over a frozen river, Biast indicated to the north, where a single mountainous pillar rose from the land. “It was approximately around here.”

“I’ll lower Duscha as far as I’m comfortable,” Falkner said. “You guys keep your eyes on the ground.”

Wordlessly, everyone took to different sides of the airship, looking over the side of the gondola to the icy terrane below. Falkner kept the airship to a slow pace, grateful that this part of the Sacred Mountains was relatively free from turbulence and other natural hazards.

“I can see something down there,” Achyuta suddenly stated as he pointed to the very bottom of the stone pillar.

Not wanting to get too close to the natural formation, Falkner pulled the Duscha back and lowered to a safer location, some yards away. They’ll have to walk, but it was better than crashing. And with the anchor that Ciaran insisted they take with them the moment he found out they were searching the icy lands of the Sacred Mountains, they should be able to secure the Duscha, preventing it from casting adrift and stranding them.

When he was low enough, Logre and Bryce heaved the anchor over the side, letting it hit the ground with a loud crash, obviously breaking some heavily packed ice. It may take a while to dig the anchor from the ice, but at least it will ensure that Duscha stayed in one place.

Departing the airship, everyone drew their thick winter coats closer around them as they trudged through the snow toward the stony peak. As they did, a black shadow could be seen under the white ice.

Resting against the foot of the sharp and jagged peak appeared to be the skeleton of a vessel of some kind. An imperial airship, no doubt. It had to be the one they were looking for. It was, as Biast had feared, in pretty bad shape. There were jagged tears in the hull, either from the cliffs it rested against or from monsters desperate to scavenge the remains. Nothing left but metal, which was frayed and rusted, remained behind. The elements weren’t kind to it in the slightest. No surprise.

There was…little chance of any clues left inside.

“It’s the ruins of an airship…” Varuna voiced everyone’s thoughts before tearing his eyes away from the equally impressive and depressing sight. “Logre?”

Logre quickly moved toward what was assumed to be the bow of the airship. Reaching up, he smashed at some of the layers of ice with his hand. As shards fell around him, he grasped onto something and pulled sharply. He stumbled back only a couple of steps when the thing was released from its icy imprisonment. He then took a couple more steps away from the wreckage and looked down at the item in his hands.

It was the name placard.

“It bares the crest of the empire,” Logre confirmed as he looked up at the wreckage once again, a serious and sombre expression on his face. “It was one of the fleet.”

A respectful silence fell over the group as they all gazed at the shattered remains of the once almighty airship. Still, they had found it. Maybe they could put some minds at ease finally. There had to be some imperials that missed those on board, right?

“If…if there are any remains inside, we should put them to rest,” Varuna suddenly stated.

Logre glanced down at the placard for a silent moment before he sighed and raised his head. “Yeah,” he murmured as he walked back over to the airship and placed the nameplate upon an icy boulder, using it as a temporary headstone.

They’ll make a proper one back in Tharsis.

“Nitish, perhaps you should stay out here,” Achyuta suggested to the silent runemaster. “Sir Logre and I will inspect the interior.”

Nitish glanced toward the airship before nodding his head. “Emotions may be trapped inside,” he said as he chewed on his bottom lip. “It would be best to stay at a distance for now.

“I’ll look around outside,” Varuna said as he looked up at the wreckage. “I think I can climb it. I doubt I’m that heavy to fall through.”

Biast moved toward the back of the downed airship, sniffing the air and twitching his ears. “It’s been a few years since I’ve ventured on foot in these parts,” he murmured. “I will check and ensure that the ground it stable for our weight.”

“Falkner and I will stay out here with Nitish and keep an eye out for monsters,” Bryce called out.

As everyone divided to proceed with their investigations, Falkner found himself unsettled by something. Their surroundings in particular. And the state of the airship.

“What?” Bryce suddenly asked him, no doubt prompted by the unwilling sound of contemplation he made.

“It’s probably nothing,” Falkner responded quickly. He, however, found himself pausing to carefully choose his words as Nitish also turned toward him. “It’s just…there’s nothing here. No air currents, no vortexes of wind. There’s a mountain peak, sure, but it’s visible.”

Prompted to look at their surroundings themselves, Nitish and Bryce looked around for a few moments before turning back to him. He could tell by the expressions on their faces that they, too, looked stunned by their environment.

Bryce, however, shrugged after a moment. “Conditions might have been different ten years ago.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Falkner said when he noticed a troubled expression on Nitish’s face.

“It’s sad, in a way,” Nitish whispered as he looked toward the north, where the gully leading to the Cloudy Stronghold could be barely seen in the distance. “They hadn’t travelled that far from home, yet it would be impossible to go back.”

Nitish then became quiet as he folded his hands against his chest and lowered his chin, as if silently offering a prayer. He, however, soon stiffened and spun around to face the east. He looked uneasy, shaky, even going as far as to scurry behind Bryce for protection, of which immediately went on high alert.

“Humans,” Nitish said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Humans? Formable ones if Nitish reacted like that. Imperials, maybe?

As Falkner reached for his bow, Bryce withdrew his sword and held it in front of him with his two hands. “Who’s there?!” he immediately demanded.

From behind the jagged rocks and boulders that surrounded the base of the tall pillar, two figures emerged.

One was dressed in robes similar to those that Nitish would wear, but in far darker hues. His face was ashen and drawn, his cheekbones highly visible. He looked sickly. His eyes, however, were narrow and sharp. Piercing almost. Despite looking somewhat frail, the way that he carried himself suggested that he held a power that couldn’t be seen.

The other wore black clothes and a cloak that was pitch-black in colour with a hood. His face was also an unhealthy ashen grey, his lips pale as he kept them pressed together tightly. Strapped to his sides were two blades, both black and long – and lethal.

A runemaster and a nightseeker. Neither of the two looked friendly or even mildly approachable.

Everything about them just screamed ‘threat’ to Falkner.

“Who are you two supposed to be?” Bryce demanded as he tightened his grip on his weapon, the muscles in his back and shoulders tensing.

Falkner readied his bow, but did not raise it. “More importantly, how did you get here? There’s no airship.”

The nightseeker flicked his gaze toward Falkner, immediately making his stomach clench with unease by how…cold his gaze was. The frigid ice around them had nothing on his glare.

“…We have our ways,” the man simply said, his voice deep and unsurprisingly ominous.

Lured out from their investigation of the airship wreckage, Varuna, Logre and Achyuta appeared. In Logre’s hand was a few weathered pieces of paper while Achyuta cradled a surprisingly well preserved leather bound book.

“What’s going on?” Varuna asked as he nimbly jumped off of the airship, landing on the ice covered ground with barely a sound. “Who-?”

“So, you’ve finally discovered the remains of the airship,” the nightseeker commented icily as everyone automatically pulled themselves into a group, going on the defensive.

“How do you know of it?” Varuna asked in return, looking and sounding cautious.

“We know everything about it,” the runemaster retorted swiftly, his voice just as emotionless as his face. “We were there, after all.”

Nitish gasped as he timidly stepped out from behind Bryce. “Y-you’re alive. You’ve survived as well?”

“Unfortunately,” the nightseeker bit out.

Every single person of their group was immediately stunned into silence.

They were on the airship, huh? Did they somehow make it back to the Cloudy Stronghold? They must have. There was no way they could have survived the harsh conditions of the Sacred Mountains for ten years without Biast and the sentinels learning of their existence.

“The two little ones have grown, I see,” Biast suddenly said, a sense of familial relief in his voice.

As everyone turned to look in the direction of the voice, Biast trotted out from his position next to the airship. He showed no outward aggression, only his nose was twitching every once in a while. He silently gazed at the two strangers before his ear gave a sudden flick, almost as if in recognition.

“You…” the runemaster murmured as he stared at Biast. For the first time since they’ve appeared, there was a slight flicker of emotion in his eyes. “Yes, I remember. You were one of the sentinels that took care of us when…” he trailed off as he glanced off to his side, catching his partner’s gaze.

In turn, the nightseeker pressed his lips together, seemingly struggling with something. He then drew in a deep breath and…reached into his cloak and revealed three throwing knives. Without a single pause, he threw them all in their direction. As he did so, the runemaster released a powerful fire ball at them as well with a simple flick of his wrist.

Reacting on purely instinct, Varuna used his shadow cloak to deflect the knives away, preventing them from causing him or anyone else any harm. Nitish used his powerful psychic skills to fend off the fire ball with a wave of his hand, causing the flames to dissipate as quickly as they were called upon.

This all happened before anyone else had the chance to think. There was absolutely no warning.

It was truly startling. Falkner hadn’t anticipated a thing…

“What are you doing?” Varuna demanded as he withdrew his own weapons. “We don’t want to fight you!”

Neither the nightseeker nor runemaster moved from their offensive stances, plunging the atmosphere around them into a tense standstill. Even the slight breeze around them seemed to fade.

However, just as suddenly as they had attacked, the two pulled back, seemingly having learnt what they set out to discover. The tension still hung in the air, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it was before.

“They really were the ones aboard the Emperor’s airship,” the runemaster stated as he turned his attention to his companion.

“Yeah,” the nightseeker answered simply as he folded his arms over his chest.

Once again, an aggravating intense silence fell over the group, whom of which were puzzled, confused and cautious.

“What the hell was all of that about?” Bryce abruptly demanded.

“Personal reasons,” the nightseeker replied swiftly as he flicked his cloak over his shoulder and turned to regard them with a sense of purpose. “Now, I am Telem and this is Durriken.”

“As you know,” the runemaster, Durriken, continued. “We, too, were trained by the empire and sent on the journey throughout the lands.”

Their sudden cooperation was suspicious.

“How did-?” Varuna began to ask, still defensively tense, but was cut off abruptly by Telem.

“None of that matters.”

Varuna, however, wouldn’t be deterred by a few harsh words. “You live in the Cloudy Stronghold, right?”

Durriken raised a questioning eyebrow. “Yes.”

“Then the empire knows of you, right?”

“…A part of the empire does,” Telem said after a slight moment of pause.

“A part?” Varuna questioned as he furrowed his brow in confusion. “What-?”

But once again, Telem cut him off. “We’re done here,” he said as he and Durriken turned around abruptly and began to walk away, in the direction they had suddenly appeared in.

“W-wait!” Nitish called out, causing the two to momentarily pause in their steps and glance over their shoulders at him.

“What?” Durriken asked sharply.

“We really are glad that you’re alive,” Nitish said as he folded his hands against his chest in a sign of sincerity. “Even if you resent us.”

Telem’s back tensed slightly while Durriken’s face became even more terse. They both turned their heads back around and quickly walked off, their steps somewhat hasty. It wasn’t long before they disappeared from sight.

…Well, those two sure were bitter. Seemed like friendly and tolerant Achyuta was an oddity of the Cloudy Stronghold.

“Sorry, I don’t know much about those two,” Logre suddenly said as he sighed and readjusted his coat around his shoulders. “They were…on a different airship, after all.”

Varuna slowly eased himself out of his defensive position and re-sheathed his blades soundlessly. “If…if they survived, could others?”

“…I don’t know.”


	6. chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much GrayToneSkies for commenting on the previous chapter! Long chapter ahoy! Just a special something from Baldur’s POV. Enjoy!

Baldur didn’t like to be touched. Completely reasonable considering that he grew up with the knowledge and threat that the slightest mistouch could lead to severe poisoning and ultimately death.

That _medic,_ on the other hand, was continuously man-handling him. A hand on the head or shoulder, picking him up and flinging him over his shoulder. Or, worst of all, carrying him under his arm like he was nothing more than a few logs of fire wood, all the while knocking out any Imperial that tried to intervene. He was a medic; he shouldn’t have that kind of strength to throw him around like a rag-doll. It was absolutely infuriating!

“Unhand me,” Baldur hissed as the medic, Isiah, dragged him effortlessly through the streets unimpeded. Not even his loyal knights were brave enough to interfere.

“It’s either this or Chain Circle,” Isiah said as he tightened his grip on Baldur’s shoulder and peered down at him through his one visible eye. Baldur had to begrudgingly admit to himself that the medic was terrifying whenever he did that. “What will it be?”

Baldur winced as he glanced off to the side, toward the little vessel that was happily trotting alongside Isiah. Zoran looked cute and harmless, but he was potent with his circle magic. The slightest gesture from Isiah and he would cast his magic. And it would work first time, every time.

That was also infuriating.

With his current condition, the only thing he could do was sigh and allow the medic to drag him along. Apparently, his health had improved enough to be moved from the Grand Mark’s Court to live with Tharsis’ top three researchers. Which meant, he was going to be living with Isiah, along with the nightseeker and runemaster.

Which also meant sneaking out was going to be harder.

How maddening.

“Oh, welcome home, Isiah,” a somewhat familiar voice greeted when Isiah tugged Baldur inside of a three story building. Standing in the middle of a room with several couches was a man with purple hair and the exotic outfit of a dancer.

Baldur somewhat knew the dancer. He, like all the other members of the Phaedron guild, would drag him back to Isiah each and every time he tried to escape.

“Mahalah,” Isiah said in return as he pulled Baldur further into the residence and closed the door, standing between him and it. “The others not back yet?”

“Not yet,” the dancer replied as he glanced toward Baldur. He had a small smile on his face, but his eyes held curiosity. He, however, seemed to quickly realise something and turned his focus back to Isiah. “Ah, so Baldur will be staying with you at the clinic now?”

Isiah nodded his head as he dropped a carry bag to the floor and roughly ran a hand through his hair. He then looked pointedly a Baldur. “Since he’s always up and about, I can keep a better eye on him here.”

Baldur couldn’t think of a way to verbally respond to that, so he simply sent the menacing medic a glare. His glares were usually enough to shut anyone up, but Isiah just rolled his eyes and the dancer seemed to find it amusing.

Ugh, living here was going to be hell. Where was Logre, anyway?

The front door to the residence suddenly opened and a troop of rather weary looking men stepped inside. He instantly recognised the majority of them. They were all members of Guild Phaedron.

“Welcome back. How did everything…?” Mahalah asked, at first with a welcoming expression on his face before trailing off, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “What happened?”

The man with white hair, Varuna, looked downcast as his gazed at the floor. “There were…other survivors.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?”

“They attacked us.”

“What? Oh, is everyone all right?”

“We’re all right. It’s just…”

They lapsed into a contemplative silence and Baldur didn’t have a clue to what they could be talking about. Or why they all seemed confused and disheartened. He, of course, also didn’t care.

“Hm?” Logre muttered as he finally looked over at him, his eyes widening in surprise. “Prince Baldur?”

“He’s staying here from now on,” Isiah abruptly answered in a tone that left absolutely no room for argument. So his usual way of speaking.

The blond-haired runemaster, Nitish, clapped his hands in front of him, seemingly pleased with the prospect. “Oh, the spare room?”

“That’s right,” Isiah said as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his medical coat and turned a stern gaze back in his direction. “You. In bed. Now.”

Baldur instantly bristled and was trying to formulate a scathing retort in his mind, but he fell silent when Nitish moved toward him and placed his hands lightly on his shoulders. “Come, I’ll show you,” he said with a gentle smile as he guided him toward a set of stairs.

Ugh, fine. He knew when he was outnumbered. The runemaster wasn’t anywhere near as…menacing (for a lack of a better word) as the medic anyway.

… … … … …

The bed at the researcher’s clinic was surprisingly comfortable, even if the room was smaller than he was used to. It didn’t matter, mind. He wasn’t planning on spending much time inside that room or the clinic.

He had to keep moving. Sitting still, waiting around…no, that was not for him. He needed to keep busy. Even if it was just reading something or walking around.

It was an hour or so after sunrise when Baldur pulled himself out of bed and quickly dressed in a set of clothing that Logre had arranged for him. The peasant clothing of Tharsis was all that he had left to wear. Isiah had thrown away his royal armour. Of course, Baldur didn’t actually see him do it, but Isiah claimed he did and he wouldn’t put it past the sadistic medic to do such a thing.

Wearing such thin and light clothing felt so foreign to him. He just couldn’t feel comfortable. He would feel better if he could just wear his armour.

But, no, they would agitate his injuries. Supposedly.

“So that’s what happened,” he heard the guild’s dancer, Mahalah, comment as he paused on to top step of the stairs. “No wonder Varuna and Nitish looked so dejected when they returned.”

Leaning against the back of a chair, facing toward the stairs and with a mug of some kind of brew in his hand, the red-headed sniper, Falkner, nodded his head. “They most certainly weren’t friendly.”

Mahalah sighed and shook his head. “But why would they be so resentful? Varuna and Nitish…they were only children themselves.”

Falkner shrugged. “Who knows?”

It was obvious that the two were discussing the events of what happened last night. Baldur still hadn’t a clue what happened. He’d probably find out eventually.

Mahalah suddenly looked uneasy as he folded his arms over his torso. “What should we do if they-?”

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Falkner stated confidently, cutting the other man off. He took a sip of his drink and flicked his eyes toward the stairs, toward him. He pulled the cup away from his lips a second later and sent him a lopsided grin. “Ah, the prince is awake.”

“Hm?” Mahalah murmured as he turned around and looked up the stairs as well. As soon as he did, he, too, smiled warmly up at him. “Oh, good morning Baldur. Are you looking for something to eat?”

There was no point in hiding, so Baldur descended the stairs. Getting something to eat might be good for him, but could he trust this…patch-quilt of explorers to cook him something eatable? Logre trusted them, true. Still…

“I just need some fresh air,” Baldur said as he quickly reached the floor and hastily made his way to the front door. He either moved quicker than the two had anticipated, or…

“I wouldn't go out there if I was you, kiddo,” Falkner said. Although the words were meant to be a warning, he sounded too amused and casual about something.

“I can do whatever I want,” Baldur retorted, nothing more than a few steps from the door. “And do not call me kiddo.”

Before he could reach the door, though, it suddenly flew open and an ominous figure stood upon the threshold.  Baldur than did something completely out of character – he uttered a noise that could only be described as a squeak and raced back inside. He then went one step further into humiliation by hiding behind the red-headed sniper.

Falkner simply chuckled as he took another long sip of his drink. “Warned ya, kiddo,” he muttered against the rim of the cup.

“Where were you going?” Isiah asked as he stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him.

“I needed some fresh air,” Baldur replied, although he still hid behind the red-headed sniper. From what Logre had confessed to him, this Falkner was the only person (besides Nitish, it seemed) not to be instantly afraid of Isiah.

“Then open a window,” Isiah retorted sharply.

“So I can throw myself out of it?” Baldur found himself uttering before he had the chance to mentally reconsider. “A much preferred option than dealing with you.”

He quickly became quiet when Isiah simply looked at him.

…Shit. His eyes just narrowed. He was plotting something.

Better escape.

Before anyone could react, Baldur bolted upstairs, stopping only when he reached the top step.

Having stayed quiet through the entire confrontation, Mahalah folded one arm over his chest as he covered his mouth with his other hand. He appeared to be chuckling. “I’ll go make him some breakfast,” he murmured, pure amusement in his voice as he headed to the kitchen.

Isiah folded his arms over his chest and scratched his chin. “...I like that one,” he suddenly stated.

Still leaning against the back of the chair, Falkner nodded his head and shoved a hand into a pocket of his pants. “Yeah, that was pretty good.”

“I'm still going to get my revenge, don't get me wrong.”

“Of course.”

…Ugh. How infuriating.

Going downstairs was no longer an option, so Baldur decided to explore the upper floors. This place was referred to as the Researchers’ Clinic, so there was bound to be something of interest, surely.

“You’re welcome to hide out here,” a voice said as Baldur slipped into what he thought as an empty room. “But I wouldn’t eat anything here.”

Startled, Baldur snapped his head up and saw that the white-haired nightseeker of the guild was standing before what could be described as a work table, numerous natural products sprawled out in front of him. This room must be his work room. Even if there was a bed in the corner.

If he remembered correctly, his name was Varuna. He didn’t know much about the nightseeker, other than what Logre had told him. Apparently he was on the same airship as…his father and had survived. He and his twin brother, runemaster Nitish. Both had originated from the Cloudy Stronghold as well. Although…he hadn’t heard of either of them until Logre told him.

Glancing around the room, he was somewhat surprised to recognise some of the food articles being kept in containers.

“Are you…working on produce from the Cloudy Stronghold?” Baldur found himself asking as he stepped further into the room.

Varuna, unperturbed by his intrusion, nodded his head as he turned back to whatever he was working on at his desk. “That’s right.”

How pointless. “All of it is poisonous.”

“Not exactly,” Varuna replied, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile as he tapped his writing utensil against his cheek.

Baldur furrowed his brow in slight puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“Milky Goat, for example,” Varuna said as he unexpectedly slid an open book along the table, the book stopping right in front of where Baldur was standing. “Can increase strength and health, yet it somehow decreases a person’s concentration and technique, but not through the use of toxins or poisons. Silver Carp can increase resistance to elemental attacks. And Marron Gourd can increase a person’s immune system, preventing poisoning and even panic attacks.”

Unbefitting of a prince, Baldur found himself stunned into silence.

Varuna, however, continued on. “So, in theory, if we pair Milky Goat with another substance, we can counteract the decrease in concentration.”

Baldur immediately turned his attention to the book Varuna slid his way and found it full of notes and possible tonic suggestions on food they’ve discovered in the Cloudy Stronghold. But that should be impossible, right?

“These…are edible?”

“All poisons can be extracted and removed if one knows what they are doing,” Varuna countered with a slight shrug as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against his work table.

“You know what you’re doing?” Baldur questioned, but surprisingly it wasn’t in a biting tone.

“I’m a toxicologist,” Varuna said as he gave one shoulder shrug and a small smile. “I probably should know better than anyone.”

Baldur blinked. “…Toxicologist?”

“You know, study of poisons and toxins?” Varuna explained readily. “I work for the Count as a researcher. You’re welcome to read any of these books.”

He had researchers working for him at the Cloudy Stronghold, but none of them were so…young.

“You wrote these?” Baldur asked as he glanced around the room, noting several books lying about, on shelves and in piles on the floor.

“They’re mostly research notes and journals,” Varuna answered with a slightly dismissive motion of his hand before turning his attention back to his work once more. “You might find something interesting in them.”

…It wouldn’t hurt to idly flip through a book or two. After all, that medic wouldn’t allow him to go outside without a fight.

“Hey brat.”

“Don’t call me that,” Baldur automatically snapped as he briefly lifted his gaze from the book he was flipping through to glare at the guild’s brown-haired landsknecht.

Completely unfazed by his glare, Bryce entered the room and approached Varuna at his work desk. “I wouldn’t try sneaking out yet,” he said to him over his shoulder. “Isiah’s guarding the front door and Biast is out the back.”

Baldur sighed.

…The window was truly sounding like his safest option.

Baldur couldn’t help but be startled when Bryce walked over to Varuna and slid up behind him, fearlessly wrapping his arms around Varuna’s waist. And Varuna simply lolled his head to the side slightly, allowing the brown-haired landsknecht to rest his chin on his shoulder. Bryce then whispered something to Varuna, prompting the white-haired nightseeker to roll his eyes, a smile appearing on his lips.

When Bryce curled a strand of Varuna’s white hair behind his ear and pressed his lips against the side of Varuna’s neck, enticing a gasp and then a light chuckled from the nightseeker, Baldur quickly looked away. He felt the surprising sense of confusion and embarrassment settle in his stomach. He felt as though he was intruding on something.

Snatching a few books off of the book shelf in front of him, he hastily but quietly left the room. He didn’t know what to make of what he just saw. They were so…touchy-feely. Touch, he had been told, could lead to illness and death.

But Logre did say that Tharsis was different. The people most certainly were at the very least.

Baldur was pulled from his musings by a blinding flash of light, almost making him drop the books he was carrying. Clutching said articles against his chest, Baldur peered into the room he assumed the light originated from. What he found was Nitish standing in the middle of the room with two books, one of which appeared to be floating in the air in front of him, being held up by some kind of magic.

Baldur watched in blatant surprise as the book floated toward Nitish and falling into his outstretched hand.

“Ah, Little Prince,” Nitish greeted the second his opened his eyes, not remotely surprised to find him loitering outside his room.

“What was that?” Baldur asked, both interested to know what the runemaster was doing, but habitually wary all the same.

“Oh, that was merely a Burst Skill,” Nitish immediately and readily answered with a small smile. “I had slightly modified it to allow for instant monster recording the moment the spell is used. When used, the spell will automatically record vital information about monsters within its presence in this very book.”

Nitish then placed one book upon his desk, keeping the other that had been floating in front of him in his hand. Suddenly, he walked toward Baldur and offered him that very book. “Here.”

“What?” Baldur blurted out.

“You can have it,” Nitish said patiently. “I want you to record all your monster encounters when you start your adventure as an explorer.”

Baldur shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t have time to become an explorer,” he stated firmly.

“You have all the time in the world,” Nitish said simply as he continued to hold the book toward him.

Baldur sighed and decided to simply take the book. He could always toss it aside later. Besides, Nitish was rather cherished within the guild and Varuna’s twin. And the last person he wanted to be on the bad side of was someone who dealt with poisonous substances on a daily bases.

“Nitish?” A voice called out as someone else entered the room. “Oh, your highness?”

Turning away from Nitish, Baldur gazed at the man with the thin-rimmed glasses that was also one of his knights, although like Logre, chose not to wear his imperial armour outside of the Cloudy Stronghold. His name was Achyuta, if he wasn’t mistaken. He hadn’t had much to do with this knight as he was usually on rounds within the Echoing Library or the Windy Archives.

From what Logre told him, he was a talented warrior and he held great trust in him.

…And that he risked his life protecting Nitish while they were trapped inside the Echoing Library.

“I just presented Baldur with a monster codex to take on his travels when he becomes an explorer,” Nitish explained happily as folded his hands elegantly in front of himself.

“Ah, I see,” Achyuta said with a smile on his lips, seemingly pleased with something before turning his attention back to Baldur. “Your highness, Mahalah has made you something to eat if you’re hungry. Would you like to eat it in your room?”

Anything was better than having someone watch him like a hawk as he ate. Zoran was cute and all, but the way he could stare without blinking was borderline creepy. “Very well.”

“I’ll bring it into you then,” Achyuta eagerly stated, once again seemingly pleased by something before striding out of the room.

Placing the monster codex atop of the pile of books he borrowed from Varuna’s room, Baldur wandered back to his new room. He placed the books upon the table that was situated under the window and gazed outside for a moment. The view…was different than the one back in the Cloudy Stronghold. The Yggdrasil tree…looked more mystical from this distance.

“Let me ask you something,” Baldur said the moment Achyuta walked into his room with the tray of his food.

“Of course, your highness,” Achyuta instantly replied as he set down the food upon the table, next to the stack of books.

Baldur paused for a moment to consider his words carefully. “Why did you choose to help that…help Nitish out at the Echoing Library?”

Achyuta became silent and subconsciously straightened his posture. “…It’s hard to explain,” he eventually muttered. “There was just something about him that drew me in. He felt like a kindred spirit in a way. He has a very beautiful spirit.”

“…I don’t understand,” Baldur muttered.

“…It was instinct, your majesty.”

“Instinct?”

“Yes,” Achyuta said, sounding more confident in his words and himself. “Something inside of me told me to protect him, to help him. He wasn’t a threat to anyone, so it was wrong to treat him as such. Like I said, it’s difficult to explain. The feeling can’t be put into words. It’s something that can only be experienced. I’m sure you will experience it one day, sire.”

…Only experienced, huh?

“Achyuta?”

Baldur sighed and turned his back to Achyuta, giving him a slight wave of dismissal with his hand over his shoulder. “Go to your runemaster.”

“Thank you,” Achyuta responded with sincerity before quietly leaving the room.

Picking up a book, Baldur sat down in a chair and began to idly scan the pages, taking bites of his food every now and again. He wasn’t all that hungry, but he figured he better eat something before Isiah resorted to shoving it down his throat with a stick. Don’t think he won’t.

Flipping through the pages, he was somewhat surprised to realise that the handwritten notes of the book were more interesting than he had anticipated.

He had to admit that the nightseeker’s work was quite astonishing. He hadn’t heard of the vast majority of the items he had researched. Didn’t even think they were possible. And he was schooled by the most respected scholars of the Empire. Then again…he was only schooled on the happenings of the Cloudy Stronghold. It only made sense that he hadn’t a clue about anything of the other three lands…

It was surprisingly a few hours later that Baldur was pulled from his reading by a noise radiating downstairs. There appeared to be a bit of a commotion if the hum of voices was anything to go by. From the angle of the sun, it must be about midday, so he hazarded a guess that a few of the Phaedron members were mingling downstairs while getting something to eat.

Finding the noise a bit of a distraction, Baldur set down his book and wandered from the room. He didn’t want to go down stairs and become the centre of attention, so he lingered by the stairs and simply looked down.

He watched as Blayden, who was about his height, suddenly wrap his arms around Nitish and lifted him up off the floor, the blond-haired runemaster half hanging over his shoulder. Nitish, of course, immediately squeaked out a noise of surprise and flailed for a moment, not knowing where on Blayden he could hold onto.

“Told ya I was getting stronger,” Blayden said as he effortlessly kept Nitish off the floor, the runemaster looking utterly nervous.

“Careful with him now, Blayden,” Mahalah chided, but he appeared somewhat amused by the sight.

“You’re as skinny as a twig, Nitish,” Blayden said as he placed Nitish back on his feet, the runemaster hastily brushing back his long hair as he tried to compose himself. He, however, didn’t look angered or annoyed. He did look embarrassed, though.

“You need to put on some weight!” Blayden continued.

“Hardly impressive,” Bryce suddenly stated from where he sat on the couch, his arms dangling casually over the back and his feet up on the coffee table. “Nitish is as light as a feather. Now if you can lift someone like Logre, then that would be impressive.”

Logre immediately turned around and gave Bryce a lop-sided grin. “Are you implying that I’m fat?”

“No, of course not,” Bryce replied in a manner that wasn’t at all sincere. “Muscles are heavier than fat, don’t you know?”

“Of course they are,” Logre replied, equally insincere.

“Besides, Blayden isn’t tall enough to be able to pick you up,” Bryce added nonchalantly.

“Hey!”

“Now now,” Logre crooned to the short blond before a smirk appeared on his lips and he turned his attention to the other short-haired blond who had been silently watching from the background in amusement to the guild’s antics. “Why don’t you try picking Kirjonen up?”

The blond known as Kirjonen whipped his head around to regard Logre with a bewildered look on his face. “Me?” he muttered before becoming understandably nervous when Blayden began to approach him. “W-wait a min-Oof!”

Before the blond could escape, Blayden had him dangling over his shoulder, holding him effortlessly off the ground. “Too easy!”

“Y-you’ve made your point now!” Kirjonen virtually shrilled as he placed his hands on Blayden’s back and struggled feebly.

Logre laughed aloud, in a way Baldur had never heard before, and easily picked Kirjonen off of Blayden’s shoulder with one arm and deposited him back on his feet. Kirjonen looked dazed and bewildered, and embarrassed if the redness to his cheeks was any indication.

“How about picking Isiah up?” Blayden suddenly asked cheekily as he spun around on the medic.

Isiah promptly snorted. “Only if you want to pick yourself up off the floor afterwards.”

Baldur felt baffled and confused as he wandered back to his room. They were…a strange group of people.

He…felt out of place.

… … … … …

It was becoming late in the afternoon when Baldur unexpectedly finished another one of the research journals Varuna had written. After reading so much and being cooped up in one room for so long, he was starting to get a headache.

Since he had stayed put for the majority of the day…maybe he could sneak out for a quick walk for some fresh air? This late in the afternoon, he wouldn’t be able to do much else. Surely that medic would allow him some exercise, if he put it that way, right?

Slipping on a pair of boots, Baldur quietly made his way downstairs to find it suspiciously empty, saved for a single purple-haired dancer.

“I don’t really have the resources at the moment to stop you,” Mahalah said with a slight ‘tut’ in his tone when he laid eyes on him. He, however, smiled at him a moment later and reached for a coat that was hanging up on the wall near the front door. “But at least wear something warm. It’s cool this evening.”

“Fine,” Baldur said in a pacifying manner as he grabbed the coat, wanting to end the confrontation quickly so that he could get outside as quickly as possible.

But just as Baldur stepped outside, he was met with the hulking form of the guild’s bushi, sentinel Biast. However, instead of ushering him back inside like he had expected, the purple-furred wolf-like being simply twitched his ear at him.

“I’ll be at the wharf for the rest of the evening,” he said unexpectedly before trotting off.

In other words, don’t bother heading to the wharf. Fine, he’ll just…walk around town or something. It was important that his imperials saw him, their leader, up and about after all.

Baldur sighed and tugged on the coat, finding it too big, but surprisingly…comfortable. It had a strange sent to it, so it obviously belonged to someone else. He couldn’t help but wonder who. Not that it mattered, of course.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of the jacket, Baldur at first walked quickly away from the clinic before slowing his pace when the building was out of sight. As he walked around idly, he couldn’t help but notice how truly different Tharsis was. Everything was so…open. And light. Trees. Flowers. Birds.

It was so…foreign.

Could…could his Imperials really live in such a place?

Baldur was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when a hand suddenly clasped his shoulder. He instinctively stiffened, cursing himself for becoming lost in his surroundings. However, he felt confused when he heard a light chuckle instead of an annoyed click of a tongue.

Glancing over the shoulder that a hand rested upon, Baldur found himself looking up at the tall fortress that was the guild’s leader, Roxbury.

“Did I scare you?” he asked with a sense of mirth shimmering in his eyes, although his smile remained friendly.

“Don’t be absurd,” Baldur retorted as he brushed the man’s hand from his shoulder. “Of course you didn’t.”

“Oh? You thought I was Isiah there for a second, didn’t you?” Roxbury questioned as he allowed his hand to rest idly by his side, that smile of his never faltering for a second. “Come now, you’re not the only one scared of him.”

Baldur lifted his chin defiantly. “I’m not scared of a lowly medic.”

Roxbury smiled as he suddenly looked away from Baldur, seemingly to regard someone else. “…Hear that, Isiah?”

Baldur immediately whipped around, terrified and expecting his sight to be filled with the menacing form of said medic. But instead he saw nothing and he bristled, flushing lightly when he heard yet another chuckle from the fortress. “S-stop that!” he demanded as he spun around to face him again.

“Sorry, sorry, couldn’t help myself,” Roxbury said in a somewhat pacifying manner. The smile on his lips still held a sense of mirth, though. “In any case, he will be rather…irritated if you walk around by yourself. Why don’t you accompany me to the Dancing Peacock? You can learn a little about quests there.”

Speaking with the leader of the famous Phaedron guild should be alright. It might ease some of the concerns the Tharsis council members held toward him.

“Fine.”

Pleased by his cooperation, if a little surprised as well, Roxbury guided him toward a standalone building situation near the centre of town. Stepping inside the strange building with an even stranger interior, Roxbury explained the fundamentals of taking and leaving requests, but to Baldur it seemed like a lot of nonsense and laziness. He, however, was somewhat surprised when it was revealed that even the Count himself would occasionally leave a request for a guild to fulfil.

Were these explorers that trustworthy and useful?

“Being a leader can be tough, can’t it?” Roxbury suddenly said as they paused in front of a large bulletin board that covered a large portion of a wall near the bar. “But it can be made so much easier if the people you surround yourself with are genuine and on the same wave-length as you. But they also must have their own perspectives and interests. And guts.”

Baldur felt a frown tug at his lips. “Wouldn’t that simply cause disruptions?”

Roxbury chuckled. “The worst type of person to have is the one who only agrees to what you say. Being a leader is also a learning experience. You must grow alongside those of your guild. I’m a leader, not a superior. I have my strengths and weaknesses, just like anyone else. If I make a mistake, I would want someone to call me out on it. If I do something that could cause others harm, then I would want to know.”

He…reminded him of someone. An elderly woman he childishly called Grammy when he was younger. She told him the same thing. To surround himself with people who were honest. Those who would lift him higher and then catch him if he fell…

…It didn’t matter. She was dead now anyway.

“There’s nothing of note here today,” Roxbury said as he turned away from the bulletin board and graved him with another smile. “Is there any place you would like to visit?”

Baldur shrugged. “Not really,” he answered honestly.

“Ah, how about a walk around the city then?”

Obviously, the other man didn’t trust him enough to stay out of trouble. He wasn’t bad company, however, so there was no reason why not.

“Sure.”

Wordlessly, Roxbury guided him out of the place that must have been the Dancing Peacock and back into the streets of Tharsis. As Baldur fell in step next to the other man, finding a strange sense of kinship with him, he was grateful that Roxbury wasn’t trying to force him into a conversation. He allowed him to dwell in his thoughts.

Roxbury suddenly slowed in his steps when a red-armoured Imperial crossed their path. Although the knight wore a helmet, Baldur could tell that the knight was male. Although the imperial armour was similar in practicality, there were subtle differences in the male and female armour.

The imperial saluted in his direction, a common occurrence as he was their prince after all. But Roxbury seemed uneasy for some reason. He placed his hand on Baldur’s shoulder and guided him to walk on his other side, purposely placing himself between him and the imperial’s gaze. Almost as if he was shielding him in some manner.

As Baldur glanced up in mild interest, he realised that the normally friendly expression that seemed to be forever etched on his face was replaced with a tight-lipped glare. Glancing back toward the red-armoured imperial, he watched as the knight threw his hands up in the air in mock surrender before making a farewell gesture with a curl of his hand and wandering off.

Roxbury didn’t loosen his grip until the imperial was out of sight. The leader’s reaction was startling and surprising. Had that imperial done something wrong?

Glancing back in the direction the imperial disappeared in, Baldur instead found his gaze falling upon the form of the floaty medic that would sometimes accompany Isiah when he was resting at the Grand Mark’s Court. What was his name again? Miach or something.

The black-haired sniper, little brother to the red-headed sniper (believe his name was Fletcher?) suddenly appeared and raced over to Miach to grab him by the wrist. With a sharp tug, he pulled the purple-haired medic to a stop. Miach, however, only looked mildly startled.

“This way, you dope,” Fletcher said as he began to pull Miach in the opposite direction. And Miach just toddled behind him, dazed but unfazed.

“Oh, hi, Roxbury!” Fletcher suddenly shouted over the crowds, waving in Roxbury’s direction as he kept a firm grip on Miach’s wrist with his other hand. “Whatcha up to?”

“Just keeping Baldur company,” Roxbury said as he tugged Baldur along with him toward the two, his usual friendly expression reappearing on his face. “Are you and Miach up to something that I should know about?”

Fletcher snorted, playfully indignant. “Of course not. I’m just taking Miach out for a walk…apparently?”

Glancing over at the other young man, Baldur deadpanned when the medic stared dreamy off into the air in front of him. Hard to believe that he was actually a medic and Isiah’s understudy.

“You have a fever,” Miach suddenly stated, turning those far-off eyes to look directly at Baldur, startling him somewhat. “A little under 38 degrees. Most likely due to dehydration. Isiah won’t be happy, but he won’t be mad.”

…Wait, what?

“Then I better get him back to the clinic,” Roxbury said as he placed a hand on Baldur’s shoulder once again. “Stay out of trouble, you two.”

“We always do!” Fletcher replied with an impish grin.

As Roxbury guided him away, Baldur couldn’t help but feel somewhat baffled. How could that dreamy-eyed medic possibly know he had a fever, let alone the temperature?

“Take that back, you fucking asshole!”

Whipping his head around at the suddenly shout of another familiar voice, Roxbury’s eyes widen in surprise. And when Baldur turned to look, he too, felt surprised. The jovial blond-haired landsknecht of the guild had a taller, older man pinned to the ground and was currently beat the crap out of him.

Roxbury spluttered something toward Baldur before racing over. Baldur decided to follow at a more leisurely pace, somewhat interested to know what set the blond off. Honestly, he was a little bit surprised. If this had been the brown-haired landsknecht, his brother, he wouldn’t be surprised at all.

“Whoa, what’s going on here?” Roxbury immediately demanded as he reached forward and grabbed Blayden by the arms, effortlessly holding him back, even as the blond kicked and spat like a wildcat. “Not like you, Blayden.”

Even with a busted lip and grazed cheek, Blayden looked furious. “This asshole said that it would have been better if Baldur died instead of the Titan,” he spat, venom practically dripping off each word.

Roxbury became silent while Baldur winced. He felt both unsurprised and surprised. Unsurprised because he had a feeling that a lot of people felt the same way this man did. And surprised because Blayden seemed to be beating him up on his behalf.  
   
“Go for the head,” Roxbury unexpectedly murmured as he released his hold on Blayden.

“Roger,” Blayden hissed before launching himself back at the guy.

Baldur watched in stunned silence as Blayden continued to pulverise the mouthy man for a few minutes longer, Roxbury preventing anyone else from meddling before interfering himself, grabbing the short blond by the arm and forcibly dragging him away.

As Blayden yelled at the guy to “keep those fucked up opinions to himself’, Roxbury reached out with his other hand to grasp at Baldur’s arm and then proceeded to pull the both of them through the streets and back toward the researchers clinic.

Baldur was still feeling somewhat stunned as he found himself sitting on a couch in the clinic’s seating room a few minutes later, Bryce laughing hysterically next to him as Isiah patched up a rather scrappy looking Blayden.

“Ow! Ow! Ooow!” Blayden yelled as Isiah dabbed some kind of antiseptic to his grazes.

“Keep still and it won’t hurt as much,” Isiah chided with an even tone.

“Shouldn’t you be a little bit more sympathetic?” Varuna leaned over the back of the couch to question the overly amused Bryce.

“Why?” Bryce snorted as a smirk appeared on his lips. “My little bro’s first street brawl. You’re a man now, squirt!”

“Oh, shut up!” Blayden shouted back while giving his older brother a show of his middle finger. He then huffed and folded his arms tightly over his chest. “You should see the other guy.”

“Why did you do that?” Baldur found himself asking quietly.

“Because it’s not true!” Blayden stated firmly and loudly, to which received several nods of affirmation from those around them.

Again, Baldur was stunned into silence. Truly, what an odd guild.

…He could, however, see himself getting along with them…in spite of himself, of course.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much LittleCaity for commenting! Oh, on a random note, I had a dream the other night that Ciaran and Lynus were actually cousins and Ciaran invited Lynus to visit Tharsis XD In all honesty, I would love to do a crossover with CtS and ALE, but not entirely sure how, you know what I mean? Anyway, hope you'll enjoy reading!

Roxbury could barely believe that he had to resort to peering through the blinds of his bedroom window to look outside in the middle of the night in the anticipation of possible danger. At the inn. In the middle of town. Such practices should be reserved for the labyrinths only.

But as he glanced outside, he felt himself twitch in annoyance and anticipation. That cocky red-armoured knight was loitering outside the inn again, within clear view and without his helmet, too. What was he up to? Was he staking out the place or simply trying to unnerve him now that he knew for certain that he and his guild rested at the inn?

The latter seemed more promising. But why?

He had better get out there and see what he wanted. Hopefully, it won’t lead to a physical confrontation. If it did…well, he knew a trick or two.

Roxbury debated with himself for a moment about whether or not he should put on his armour and take his weapon, but thought against it. If he showed force from the very beginning, that was allowing Zesiro to return in kind. Zesiro hadn’t done anything warrant such a heavy handed approach. Roxbury couldn’t be threatening…yet.

Dressed in his usual black, long-sleeved shirt and maroon pants, he slipped out of his room and silently through the lobby of the inn. It was surprisingly quiet, which was a good thing. He didn’t want anyone else getting involved.

Stepping outside, it wasn’t hard to locate the red-armoured imperial amongst the shadows of the night. He was leaning his back against the wall of a two story building, one arm folded across his chest in a standoffish manner while his driveblade rested casually in the grip of his right hand.

“Hm?” Zesiro murmured the moment Roxbury was close enough to hear him before frowning and looking somewhat disappointed, and yet not at all surprised. “Well, don’t you look even scrawnier without your armour?”

Roxbury managed to prevent an annoyed twitch. He wasn’t scrawny by any stretch of the imagination. Muscle mass didn’t mean muscle strength. But wasn’t that one of the downfalls of the Imperial class? All power and little defensive strength?

“You seemed to be obsessed with muscle mass,” Roxbury retorted as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Makes me think that perhaps that’s all you are.”

The seemingly usual smirk on Zesiro’s lip didn’t falter for a second, even as his eyes narrowed in a way that was surely meant to be intimidating. “Really now?” he practically purred at him as he pushed away from the wall and then lifted his driveblade in his direction.

Not directly at him, mind. But close enough that it was intimidating.

He needed to get that weapon out of his hand. It made him nervous. Why wouldn’t it?

Before Zesiro could react, Roxbury placed his hand on the blunt edge of the driveblade and twisted it enough that it caused Zesiro’s grip on the handle to falter just enough for him to lash out with his other hand to strike at Zesiro’s wrist, twisting the blade sharply at the same time to relinquish his grip on his completely.

He then threw the blade away, the weapon clanging loudly against the stone paved road a few feet away.

Outwardly, he remained impassive, even as a flicker of surprise appeared in Zesiro’s eyes. Inwardly, however, he was relieved. He had never used that move before on someone who wasn’t expecting it.

Achyuta had taught him that move. He had told him that many imperial guards, such as himself, were trained in the skill to disarm their fellow imperials for the sole purpose of preventing harm. He explained that some of the poisons and toxins of the Cloudy Stronghold was so potent that diseased imperials would go mentally mad.

The last thing anyone wanted or needed was a crazy and frighten imperial with a fully functioning driveblade.

Zesiro obviously wasn’t mad from poisoning, but it still worked to disarm him nonetheless. He most certainly wasn’t expecting it, either.

Zesiro glanced over to where his driveblade rested on the ground a few feet away before turning his full attention back to Roxbury. “You know how to disarm an imperial?” he asked him, arching a somewhat sceptical eyebrow at him.

“To some extent,” Roxbury replied, purposely sounding flippant.

“Interesting,” Zesiro crooned at him in a mockingly impress manner. “You’re a fast learner.”

Roxbury couldn’t help but allow a wary grin to slip across his lips. “When you’re an adventurer and leader to a feisty guild, you learn to think on your feet very quickly.”

“Is that so?” Zesiro drawled at him, his arms hanging casually by his sides, seemingly relaxing his posture.

However, something in Zesiro’s eyes immediately unnerved Roxbury. He could just sense that the man was plotting something. Even so, he wasn’t expecting to be caught off guard so easily when the other suddenly man lunged at him, moving so quickly despite the bulkiness of his armour.

Grabbing his right wrist in a gauntlet covered hand, Zesiro suddenly pulled him sharply to the side, purposely twisting him off balance. As Roxbury staggered ever so slightly from the sheer surprise of it all, Zesiro used his other hand to grab at his shirt and turn him around so that his back was to him. Keeping a firm grip on his wrist, Zesiro pulled Roxbury’s arm behind his back, pressing his wrist behind his shoulder blades.

Despite himself, Roxbury felt a hiss slip past his lips as a sharp pain erupted from his shoulder. He quickly pressed his lips together tightly to hold back a grimace as Zesiro slipped his other arm across his chest to incapacitate him further, pulling him uncomfortably close to his cold, sharp armour.

"I must admit," Zesiro whispered into his ear, his heated breath creating a tensing sensation to appear in the pit of Roxbury's stomach. "You're pretty good. Still, I am taller, stronger and more talented than you. You were never going to win."

That may be true, but the words still stung painfully.

"Now what?" Roxbury asked him bluntly.

"Hm?"

"Are you so insecure that you're willing to use physical force on someone?" Roxbury knew he was pushing it, but he didn't want the imperial to realise how vulnerable he was.

Zesiro didn't verbally respond. Instead, he tightened his grip on Roxbury's wrist as the other suddenly slipped up his chest to grip his chin in a harsh hold, keeping his head still. Unwillingly, Roxbury released a grunt of pain and surprise, and squeezed his eyes shut. He forced one eye to open when he felt Zesiro shift slightly behind him, appearing as though he wanted to hiss harshly into his ear.

However, before he could, there was the sound of something slicing through the air, quickly followed by s sharp clang. Zesiro immediately lessened his hold of him before letting go completely, jumping back away from him. Roxbury staggered forward, slightly winded as he reached up to grasp at his right shoulder. Startled, he spun around to face Zesiro, only to find him kneeling on the ground, his driveblade held in a defensive position.

"Step back, asshole!”

Roxbury immediately recognised the voice. He snapped his head up toward the upper floors of the inn, but he couldn’t see anyone. It wasn’t until he glanced up at the roof did he spy him; their guild’s redheaded sniper perched on the rooftop with his bow locked and loaded. Quickly glancing back at Zesiro, Roxbury noticed a broken arrow lying on the ground in front of him. Falkner must have heard the commotion and decided to interfere.

Good thing he did.

"Well, how typical of a sniper," Zesiro said in a mockingly impressed manner. "Would you like me to apologise for my armour being stronger than your arrows?"

"That was just a warning shot,” Falkner said as he pulled back another arrow on his bow. "This one, however, is going for straight between the eyes."

Zesiro's mocking politeness faltered for a moment as a smirk slipped across his lips, seemingly eager to take on the challenge. Instead, however, his face smoothed out into polite stoniness and he slowly stood up.

"I will leave your beloved leader alone...for now," he said as he placed his driveblade upon his back and then walked away with a somewhat obnoxious swagger.

And he quickly disappeared from view.

Still holding his shoulder, Roxbury watched until the red armoured imperial was out of sight before sighing and turning his attention back to the Falkner, whom was still standing precariously yet somehow comfortably on the rooftop.

"Are you all right?" Falkner asked in genuine concern as he lowered his bow, his sharp gaze still staring at the spot that Zesiro slipped away.

"Yes, I'm all right," Roxbury answered with a sigh of relief, even if he felt a tinge of guilt as well. That didn’t go the way he had hoped it would. “Thank you, Falkner.”

Falkner slowly began to become less tense, dropping his guard completely before sitting down casually on the roof, paying no mind to how high he was off the ground. “What’s his problem, anyway?”

Roxbury hadn’t a clue. He was absolutely nothing like Achyuta. “Good question.”

It was…frightening how easily the man was able to catch him off-guard and subdue him.

“Could you not tell Mahalah and the others what happened here tonight?” Roxbury requested.   
“I don’t want to worry them.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Falkner replied surprisingly quickly before pausing to mull over something, idly dangling one of his legs over the side of the roof. “I’m gonna hang out here for a while. You should head back in side.”

Roxbury sighed as he tightened his grip on his shoulder. It was still painful. That guy must have somehow damaged his shoulder in that tussle. But did he do it on purpose? There was something _dangerous_ about him.

He needed to watch his back more carefully.

Still…better him than the others.

… … … … …

Roxbury ran a hand over his face in frustration as he sat down upon one of the couches at the Researchers’ Clinic, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and immediately plunging into his thoughts.

He hadn’t gotten much sleep that night. Half from the low ache of his shoulder, the other half because he couldn’t stop musing about what it could be that Zesiro was trying to do. Oh, he was up to something alright, but what? He didn’t seem concerned with his brother, despite confronting him days before, so he wasn’t around to cause trouble for him. He didn’t seem bothered by Baldur, either. Or Logre. Or Nitish and Varuna. Or anyone!

He was just…hanging around.

In all honesty, Roxbury wasn’t sure what it was about the red-armoured knight that got his protective hackles bristling. He hadn’t done anything. Not before last night at least. No fights. No physical confrontations. Not even a verbal threat. He was just loitering around like some ominous red shadow.

He just made him feel so uneasy.

He was abruptly pulled from his musings by someone literally poking him on the cheek. Startled, he straightened his posture in his seat and turned his head to where Nitish was to the left of him, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

“I can sense your confusion,” he said as he gazed at him with worry shimmering in his eyes. “You have concerns?”

Roxbury knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t flat out lie to the talented runemaster, so instead slowly nodded his head. “It’s Zesiro.”

A look of distress appeared on Nitish’s face as he pulled himself to stand up straight, folding his hands against his chest. “That man…he confuses me,” he confessed as he closed his eyes. “I sense great deception from him, and yet I do not foresee any malice.”

_Really?_ No malice? There was no way Zesiro would be able to hide anything from Nitish. Not with his sensitive skills. Still…if he wasn’t being silently malicious, what was he doing?

“You best speak with Isiah about your shoulder,” Nitish unexpectedly stated, prompting Roxbury to instinctively reach up to hold his shoulder. “He has been waiting for you.”

“Yes, of course,” Roxbury said as he gave the gentle blond a small smile as he dropped his hand from his shoulder and took to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Nitish.”

“If I sense anything more, I will tell you,” Nitish promised with an unwarranted expression of guilt on his face.

“Please do,” Roxbury said as he gave the blond one last smile before quickly crossing the room and making his way over to Isiah’s office.

The door was closed, so he felt hesitant to enter. Then again, he didn’t want to keep Isiah waiting any longer than he had. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised that both Isiah and Nitish knew about his paining shoulder. They probably sensed him coming because of it.

He gave a light knock on the office door before opening it and stepping inside. “Isiah, sorry, are you free?”

Isiah lifted his head up from his work before leaning back in his seat. “I was wondering when you’d come to me about your shoulder,” he said with a very slight sense of disapproval in his voice.

“Sorry,” Roxbury instinctively murmured as he allowed the door to Isiah’s office to silently close behind him. “I figured you were busy.”

Isiah waved his hand dismissively, as he always did, before standing up from his seat and indicating to a chair on the other side of his desk. “Take your shirt off and take a seat.”

Pulling his black shirt over his head, Roxbury bit back a grimace as pain resonated from his right shoulder and sat down, keeping his shirt close to his chest. He was never the one for showing off too much skin.

“What happened?” Isiah asked as he began to carefully inspect his shoulder.

Roxbury pressed his lips together tightly for a moment before deciding that it would be best to be honest with the medic as well. Lying to him would only bring pain. Sure, he had never actually suffered a blow from his mace, but he had witnessed several unfortunate (but not completely innocent) victims at Isiah’s hand. And it was something he didn’t want to experience anytime soon.

“I had a close encounter with Achyuta’s twin.”

Isiah momentarily paused in his inspection to look pointedly at him. “He attacked you?”

“More like a tussle,” Roxbury replied quickly, a small smile appearing on his lips when he noticed the sense of protectiveness in Isiah’s voice. “He didn’t use any weapons.”

Well, not really. He didn’t need to…

They lapsed into silence as Isiah returned to his inspection, humming a moment later when he seemed to reach a conclusion.

“Well?”

“A strained muscle, but not a tear thankfully,” Isiah said as he stepped away for a moment and shuffled through one of the draws at his desk. “He seemed to know your limitations.”

Roxbury found himself clenching his jaw tightly at the thought.

“You’ll need to rest it for a day or two,” Isiah said as he returned from his desk with a support bandage and immediately, and expertly, began to wrap up his shoulder.

When Isiah said a day or two, he meant that. No early marks. “All right.”

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t let that guy get to you,” Isiah said as he finished wrapping up his shoulder. “He’s purposely trying to get under your skin.”

He most certainly was.

“I know,” Roxbury said as he tested his shoulder lightly; a few rolls and shrugs. It was only slightly restricted, but not enough to impede him in anyway. “I can’t help but feel that he’s up to something, though.”

Isiah shoved his hands into the pockets of his medical coat, a frown on his lips. “Should you be getting involved?”

“…It’s fine,” Roxbury said as he quickly slipped his shirt back over his head. “Everyone has been through enough. Let them rest.”

Isiah didn’t look or sound convinced. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Roxbury said with a hopefully reassuring smile as he tugged his shirt over his chest and stomach. “I’m just acting as a leader should, right? Anyway, where’s Baldur?”

“Reading upstairs,” Isiah answered immediately. “Why?”

“It’s just a feeling, but I think we should keep Baldur away from Zesiro as well,” Roxbury explained.

He preferred to keep Zesiro away from his entire guild if possible. They had all been through enough. He didn’t want anyone else to go through more mental and emotional torment. Not when he could actually do something to stop it.  
   
“Yeah, alright,” Isiah murmured as he continued to look at Roxbury with a somewhat critical gaze.

“Thank you for looking at my shoulder, Isiah,” Roxbury said as he made his way over to the door. But as he reached out to grab the handle, Isiah caused him to still with a few stern words.

“If he gets dangerous, don’t try to handle it on your own.”

Roxbury was silent for a few moments as he chewed on his bottom lip. When…when did Isiah come to know him so well?

“Really, there’s no need to worry,” Roxbury said reassuringly as he opened the door and stepped out, throwing a smile at the talented medic over his shoulder. “I know my limitations.”

Roxbury then silently closed the door, his smile slipping from his lips. He didn’t like to…deceive anyone like that, but he didn’t have a choice. He knew, without a doubt, that anyone knew how much Zesiro bothered him, then they would try to help out in any way possible. But he didn’t want that. He was their leader. It was his duty to look after them.

And with what happened before and during the revival of the Titan – they deserved peace more than anyone else.

Roxbury was once again startled from his musings by the sound of the front door being thrown open and three people stepping inside. It was Ciaran, Bryce and Varuna, the latter two carrying their weapons and looking somewhat exasperated.

“Thanks for the help again,” Ciaran said in a way that was both thankful and relieved.

“Nah, don’t mention it,” Bryce instantly replied as he placed his hand on his shoulder and rolled it to ease out any twitches or knots.

“Hm?” Roxbury murmured as he approached the small group. “Did something happen?”

“Apparently an imperial tried to pick a fight with a guild at the wharf,” Varuna explained in a haggard fashion. “Almost took out an airship. Had to ‘defuse’ the situation.”

Ciaran nodded his head as a half-smile appeared on his lips. “After seeing Bryce and Varuna, though, they quickly scattered.”

From the couch, seemingly arrived while Roxbury was in Isiah’s office, Falkner barked out an amused laugh. “Is that so?”

“Oh, don’t laugh,” Varuna chided as he ran his hand through his white hair, pulling it back from his face. He looked displeased and annoyed, not by Falkner’s comment, but by the event he just walked away from.

“It’s because we’re notoriously powerful,” Bryce swiftly retorted as he folded his arms over his chest. “Not because I look menacing.”

Falkner, however, continued to smile cheekily at them. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“Do you know who?” Roxbury asked as he turned his attention back to the wharf-master.

“Female,” Ciaran said as he tapped his temple. “Wore a helmet.”

Roxbury frowned deeply and shook his head. “What’s wrong with these Imperials? Honestly.”

“Not just Imperials…” Falkner was heard muttering under his breath.

“You must be patient with them.”

The sound of Nitish’s voice startled Roxbury somewhat and he immediately turned to face the runemaster. “Hm?”

“Please be patient with Imperials and those who resided within the Cloudy Stronghold,” Nitish pleaded softly as he clutched something wrapped in a purple silk against his chest. “For all their lives they’ve been surrounded by poisons and toxins. They are afraid of exposure, afraid of touch. They’ve…never embraced another. They deserve tenderness more than anyone.”

Roxbury instantly felt a sense of guilt wash over him. “Sorry, we’re not-”

“No, I know,” Nitish interrupted with a small shake of his head, his blond hair falling over his shoulders. He smiled at them, but his eyes were somewhat downcast. “It’s just…I’m bias, sorry.”

Nitish gave them all another small smile that was tinged with guilt before wandering away, back toward the kitchen area. Everyone else became silent as they mulled over his words.

Nitish…may have a point. The imperials were acting out because they didn’t know what else to do, probably.

No. Their fear of touch and freedom may be a reason, but not an excuse. They needed to learn how to behave probably, in a way that didn’t hurt or cause trouble for anyone else. Especially for their fellow Imperials who were actually enjoying their freedom like Logre and Achyuta.

“I better head back to the wharf,” Ciaran said after the somewhat awkward silence.

“Would you like me or another to stop by later to see how things are going?” Roxbury asked, quietly worried for the wharf-master’s safety.

“Things seemed to have settled for now,” Ciaran replied in turn, but he gave Roxbury a grateful smile nonetheless. “But I’d appreciate it if yeh stopped by later this evening.”

“Should we mention this to the Count?” Varuna suddenly asked as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I don’t want to keep such serious matters from him, but I also don’t want to worry him any more than he already is.”

Roxbury pressed his lips together in a thin line. Varuna had two very good points. But he knew he couldn’t keep anything from their Count. He would find out sooner or later about the antics of these seemingly rogue imperials.

“I’ll go speak with him now,” Roxbury offered.

With a few more parting words, the small group went their separate ways, Ciaran heading back to the wharf while Roxbury made a bee-line to the Grand Mark’s Court. He once again found himself musing silently as he walked through the busy Tharsis streets. He couldn’t help but wonder why the Imperials were causing trouble for others guilds and the locals themselves. He knew that not all Imperials were involved with such troublesome antics, but those who were causing trouble were imperials.

It was the whole guilt by association thing.

They needed to find out who was behind it all and put a stop to it before it gets completely out of hand.

As he drew closer to the Grand Mark’s Court, he caught sight of Kirjonen descending the stairs, the blond seemingly have returned from the Count’s office himself. Most likely to report the conclusion of a minor request.

Roxbury was about the call out to the blond-haired Holy Rune Knight to ask him whether or not he had encountered any resistance from the Imperial class when a female Imperial with blonde hair stormed over to him, an expression of anger on her face.

“It would be of your best interest if you keep your distance from Sir Logre,” she snapped at Kirjonen, causing the blond to jump slightly in shock and spin around to face the irritated woman. “A man that powerful is too important for a lowlife like you.”

At first, Kirjonen simply stared at the other woman in silence before frowning deeply in both confusion and annoyance. “Sorry, I do not understand what you are referring to. Logre is capable of choosing his own company.”

“You’re wasting your time,” she continued unimpeded. “Sir Logre will soon understand that only a woman like me will ever be able to sooth his tormented soul and give his life meaning. You are vastly inferior and should not be associating yourself with such a high ranking commander like sir Logre. What could you possibly have to offer him?”

“You’ve succeeded in confusing me further, I’m afraid,” Kirjonen spluttered, truly flabbergasted.

It took Roxbury a moment or two for the words to register in his mind and he found himself grimacing. This woman, whoever she was, seemed to be, well…enthralled with Logre and for some reason or other saw Kirjonen as a potential threat to her, ah, chance to gain Logre’s unabated attention.

The woman than spat something else at Kirjonen, but she said it so lowly that Roxbury wasn’t able to make out the precise words before she spun on her heel and stalked away. Silently, Roxbury approached the stunned blond, carefully placing his hand on his shoulder to alert him to his presence.

“Are you all right, Kirjonen?” he asked as the Holy Rune Knight turned to look at him.

“Shocked, but fine,” Kirjonen replied in a bewildered fashion. “Did you happen to overhear?”

“I was passing by,” Roxbury replied as he dropped his hand from Kirjonen’s shoulder and glanced in the direction the imperial stormed away in. “Do you know her?”

“Partly,” Kirjonen murmured as he shook his head, still within the after effects of her surprising and completely unwarranted verbal attack. “I believe her name was Neolani or something.”

Neolani? Wasn’t that the name of the one who…?

Shit. Better not let Varuna know of her existence in town. He might, ah, do something drastic. Not that it wasn’t totally unwarranted, mind. Just…no one wanted Varuna to do something he would later regret and angst about it on his own. He still twitched whenever someone mentioned the killing of the two imperials who aided in the raid of Tharsis before the Titan’s revival.

Roxbury turned back to Kirjonen. “Has she threatened you before?”

Kirjonen shook his head. “No. I’ve barely exchanged more than two words with her previously. I just…” he trailed off for a moment before shaking his head in confusion. “I failed to see what Logre has to with anything, though.”

“You should speak with him about it,” Roxbury prompted.

Kirjonen seemed to chew on the inside of his mouth as he mulled over his suggestion before sighing and reaching up to rub his temples with his fingers. “Yes. He may be able to offer some insight. Still, I do not wish to bother him. He’s already worried about his fellow Imperials not settling in well.”

Logre wasn’t the only one who was worried.

Roxbury nodded his head in understanding. “I still think you should mention it to him.”

“Ah, Roxbury, Kirjonen. Here to speak with the Count?”

Turning toward the familiar voice, Roxbury was somewhat relieved to see Logre saunter down the steps from the Grand Mark’s Court dressed in his usual wanderer attire. Perfect timing.

“I am, but Kirjonen here wants to tell you something,” Roxbury said before the blond had the chance to change his mind and nudged him toward the other man the moment he reached the bottom step. “Go on.”

Logre’s famous half-grin appeared on his lips as he turned his attention to Kirjonen, but it slipped a moment later when he realised Kirjonen seemed reluctant to talk. “Did something happen?” he asked with a frown.

“The majority of Imperials have settled in nicely within Tharsis,” Kirjonen said after choosing his words carefully. “However, there seems to be a small number that are refusing to abide by our laws.”

Logre furrowed his brow slightly, not in confusion, but in anticipation. “What do you mean?”

Kirjonen sighed as he glanced off to the side. “Moments ago a female Imperial approached me and stated rather matter-a-factly that I, and I quote, am vastly inferior and should not be associating myself with such high ranking commander like sir Logre.”

Logre’s frown turned noticeably darker and he seemed to mutter something under his breath. “…sounds like Neolani…”

So that woman was the infamous Neolani. He had better keep an eye out for her, too.

“To be honest, I was so surprised by the statement that I was speechless,” Kirjonen continued, trying his best to relay his shock the other man. “Not to mention utter confused by where such harsh words came from.”

“Don’t take her words to heart,” Logre said as he reached out to grasp Kirjonen by the shoulder, squeezing it slightly in a comforting way. “Some Imperials still believe that the empire is vastly superior to all other races.”

“Yes, I understand,” Kirjonen said as he finally turned to look at Logre, granting him a small smile. “It must be quite a culture shock to them.”

Roxbury, however, wasn’t convinced. He believed that something else was going on. No. He knew that here was something else going on.

He just had to find out what.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much GrayToneSkies for commenting on the previous chapter! I’ll look into a possible crossover, but there's nothing on the cards yet, unfortunately. I really can't think of how to get the two together...Anyway, onto the chapter~

Ciaran never thought that he would get sick of looking over airship blueprints, maintenance records and crafting new inventions for said airships.

But he was.

Pushing away the numerous folders and files of the airships under his guard, Ciaran leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. His back and neck hurt from continuously being hunched over his desk to work. And the mysteries surrounding the damaged airships was starting to make his head hurt, too.

A noise that sounded like that of someone accidentally bumping into a crate pulled Ciaran from his work and he immediately lifted his head up to listen. When he couldn’t hear anyone approaching, he felt a sense of apprehensiveness wash over him.

“Who’s there?” Ciaran asked as he placed his hands on his desk and pushed back his chair to stand up.

When he received no reply whatsoever, he knew immediately that whoever it was walking around his wharf wasn’t Roxbury or any other member of the Phaedron guild. That made him feel even more uneasy.

It could be Xander wandering about, right? Or maybe another guild was trying to sneak out on a late night run for some reason and didn’t want to disturb him. Could even be a couple of the local kids who wanted to play with the airships.

…Maybe it was a saboteur?

Whoever it was and whatever their reason for being at the wharf, he needed to check it out. It was really dark tonight, though. He had better take a torch of some kind.

As he stepped from his office, a soft flicker of light caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Turning to look, he realised that it had resonated from a lantern that hung on the wall next to his office. It was the Black Flame from the Windy Archives. Nitish had allowed the Black Flame to reside at the wharf, stating that it would be of better use here than locked up at the Researchers’ Clinic.

Would it be ok for him to use it as a torch as he investigated around his own wharf?

It shouldn’t hurt, right? It was a powerful flame, so it would offer him the best light.

Reaching forward to remove the lantern from the wall, the Black Flame flickered lightly but did little else. The flame was bright and seemingly peaceful.

Heading in the direction he assumed was the most likely area for anyone to hide in if they were avoiding him, Ciaran silently looked around. It was so quiet. The silence was making him feel edgy. Like something was going to happen.

…Perhaps he should head back and wait for Roxbury to turn up like he promised he would.

Tightening his grip on the lantern, Ciaran turned around in preparation of heading back to his office when he found himself accosted by three shadowy figures. Their sudden appearance startled him, making him jump back in surprise. He, thankfully, didn’t utter a sound of fright, even though his heart-rate suddenly leapt into the triple digits.

Lifting the Black Flame a little higher to bring light over the three shadowy individuals, Ciaran immediately felt a feeling of nausea wash over him when he recognised the class. There were three imperials. One clad in dark-blue armour from head to toe while the other two were in black armour, they too covered completely. There was no chance for him to identify any of them.

“…What the hell do yeh want?” Ciaran asked as he tried to hide his nervousness.

The Imperial decked out in dark blue armour took a threatening step toward him. “What gives you the right to possess the Black Flame?” a surprisingly feminine voice snapped at him, sounding rather indignant.

Ciaran reeled his head back slightly from surprise. “Eh?”

Nitish had told him that if the Black Flame didn’t want to reside within the boundaries of Tharsis, then it simply wouldn’t. Ciaran wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, speaking as if the flame had a will of its own, but he knew how powerful the flame truly was, so was grateful for its existence nonetheless.

“It would be of your best interest if you hand over the Black Flame immediately,” the female Imperial hissed at him.

Ciaran, however, tightened his grip on the lantern and took a step back. If he just handed over the Black Flame to them and something happened to Duscha or Espiritu, the guild would need to travel back to the Windy Archives to retrieve it again. That would waste precious time. He won’t allow that.

The seeming leader of the small group suddenly snorted and turned to the imperial on her right. “Take it by force.”

With a nod of acceptance, the black-armoured imperial marched right up to him. He, she…er, they were rather tall. And threatening.

There was no way Ciaran could fight back…

As the other imperial did as they were ordered, reaching out to literally snatch the lantern from his hand, the Black Flame unexpectedly flared up, the flames snaking out from behind the plated glass of its containment. It seemed to run up the imperial’s arm, sneaking in-between the slight gaps in their armour.

They immediately yelped and shook their hand, flinging off their gauntlet in a display of desperation to get away from the heat.

Ciaran had somehow managed to keep a hold of the lantern, even when he took a stumbling step backwards from surprise. Unconsciously, he reached out to hold onto the lantern with both hands, to keep it out of the imperials’ reach. It took him a second to realise that the lantern wasn’t burning him at all. It was warm, but not hot.

…It burnt the imperial but not him?

The three imperials in front of him were just as incredulous and shocked as he was. As the Black Flame slowly pulled back into the lantern and became peaceful once more, they immediately turned to each other and hastily began talking.

“Why did the Black Flame react?”

“Could it really prefer this lowly wharf-master over us?”

“He’s turned it against us…”

How the hell did he manage to do that?

Ciaran found himself drawing in a sharp breath when the three imperials turned to face him. While he couldn’t see their facial features due to their helmets, he knew without a doubt that they were getting pretty pissed off. His fears were founded when the three of them began to slowly advance on him.

However, before they could do anything more, another figure appeared, purposely pushing their way into the very middle of the group. Ciaran was greatly surprised when a hand landed on his shoulder and he found himself pushed up against the side of someone wearing thick armour.

Holding the Black Flame close to him, Ciaran snapped his head up to see that the one who came to his aide was none other than Xander. The dark-skinned man, however, was looking at the three imperials in front of them with a steely-eyed, tight-lipped expression.

Xander…was coming to his aide _again._

“State your business,” Xander demanded as he lifted his driveblade in a defensive manner, curling his other arm around Ciaran’s shoulders and shifting his stance in such a way that he was pushing himself at the forefront, with Ciaran at the back.

“Get out of our way, Xander,” the woman imperial snapped.

Xander’s stance never faltered for a second. Instead, he grew even more tense. “No, I don’t think I will,” he replied lowly, the tone of his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

The three hostile imperials became still, none of the uttering a sound. The atmosphere was really intense. Tension was just simmering. It wouldn’t be at all surprising if a fight broke out.

…That would be disastrous for everyone involved!

“You are bringing more shame to the Imperial name,” Xander suddenly spat as he tightened his grip around Ciaran.

The blue-armoured Imperial tensed before seemingly bristling. “...You win for now, Xander, but know this; it isn't over.”

She, along with her two companions, straightened their forms before marching away, their shoulders back and their movements powerful.

Ciaran waited until they were no longer in sight before turning his attention to Xander, the other still keeping guard over him. “W-what's going on?”

“...A rebellion, it seems,” Xander muttered as he slowly relaxed his posture, pulling his arm away from Ciaran and moving away from him. He, however, kept a grip of his driveblade and turned to give Ciaran a disapproving look. “Don’t walk around by yourself at night.”

Although the man’s tone was scolding, Ciaran could only nod his head. After what just happened, he wasn’t comfortable walking around by himself at night either. What would have happened if Xander didn’t interfere?

Glancing down at the lantern in his hands, he felt somewhat reassured by its warmth, the flame now dancing peacefully on the wick. He was going to keep the Black Flame hanging in his office from now on.

“I need to check on the airships,” Ciaran said as he tightened his grip on the lantern and made his way to the docking station.

His first instinct was to check over the airships Duscha and Espiritu. Both were thankfully (and somewhat surprisingly) untouched. A smaller airship nearby, however, had numerous rigging ropes cut and the balloon shredded, making it unusable for a day or two until he fixed it.

…A group of imperials were behind the sabotaging of his airships. But why?

“The rest of your inspection can wait until morning,” Xander said as he unexpectedly snared Ciaran’s elbow in his hand and then proceeded to drag him back toward his office, the part of the wharf that had more light.

And Ciaran allowed him.

Just as Ciaran carefully hung the Black Flame on the wall in his office, next to the door he heard a familiar voice call out to him through the deafening silence.

“Ciaran? I saw a group of Imperial knights quickly leaving the area. Is everything all right?”

“Roxbury,” Ciaran said as a relieved smile appeared on his lips and he quickly exited from his office, noticing from the corner of his eye that Xander was leaning against the wall near the door. “Whew, good to see yeh.”

While not wearing his explorer’s armour, Roxbury’s appearance was still reassuring. “Did something happen?” the brown-haired fortress immediately asked, a slight frown of concern on his lips.

Ciaran was somewhat hesitant to tell him all the details as he knew the other man would immediately fret over him. But he also knew that he couldn’t let what happened here tonight get brushed aside. “A few imperials were getting…what’s the word? Antagonistic?”

Roxbury furrowed his brow. “They threatened you?”

Ciaran made a slight motion with his hand, giving the indication that he was struggling to find the right words. “Well, kinda.”

“What do you mean ‘kinda’?” Roxbury immediately questioned as he reached out to take hold of Ciaran’s shoulder, forcing him to look straight into his eyes. “Ciaran, don’t hide anything from me.”

“I’m ok, really,” Ciaran immediately insisted, feeling somewhat guilty to be the cause of the protective concern in the Fortress’s gaze. “There were three of them. They seemed more interested in the Black Flame than anything else.”

The concern on Roxbury’s face didn’t falter for a moment, but a sense of confusion did appear in his eyes. “Black Flame? Why?”

“The Black Flame is the symbol of the empire,” Xander suddenly provided from where he rested nonchalantly against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. “For a lowly wharf-master to possess it is an insult.”

Ciaran felt himself twitch. Those words stung. “Lowly…?”

Xander flicked his gaze over in his direction before abruptly turning to look directly at Roxbury. “Those are not my thoughts.”

“Huh?” Ciaran found himself muttering in surprise.

“You?” Roxbury questioned as he turned to look at Xander, his gaze and stance somewhat protective, which was typical for him. “Your name is Xander, isn’t it?”

“He, ah, helped me out tonight,” Ciaran explained.

Roxbury nodded his head before the turned to regard Ciaran once more, looking pained. “I don’t like the idea of you here at night.”

“I can’t leave,” Ciaran said stubbornly. “I’m still the wharf-master. I need to stay here.”

“I know,” Roxbury sighed as he squeezed his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right now?”

“Yes, really,” Ciaran reiterated as he reached up to grasp at Roxbury’s wrist and tugging his hand away from his shoulder. “It was just a show of force. Can’t let them win, right?”

Roxbury still looked concerned as he allowed his hand to drop idly by his side. He then turned to look at Xander once more, seemingly mulling something over in his head before regarding the Imperial. “…If I make a request to you to protect Ciaran should trouble arise again, would you do it?” he unexpectedly questioned.

Ciaran felt his mouth drop open in surprise while Xander looked mildly shocked.

Xander pushed away from the wall to stand to attention. “An Imperial fulfils any request that is presented to them,” he replied in a professional and formal manner.

“Good,” Roxbury said as he nodded his head, seemingly pleased by the response before turning to regard Ciaran once more. “Ciaran, I want you to come to the clinic the moment there’s any trouble.”

“Yes, fine, I’ll do that,” Ciaran said, going to great lengths not to sigh in exasperation at Roxbury’s protectiveness. “Please stop fussing over me. I’m fine.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Roxbury said as his face finally smoothed out, an apologetic smile on his lips. “I can’t help myself some times.”

After promising the dedicated Fortress that he would stay in his office and wouldn’t go searching around at night by himself, Roxbury reluctantly left the wharf and headed back to the Researchers’ clinic. It wouldn’t surprise Ciaran at all if he received sporadic visits by other guild members throughout the night.

“That Roxbury,” Ciaran muttered as he walked back into his office, running a weary hand through his hair. “A real worry-wort.”

Ciaran stood in the middle of his office and turned to look at the door. He could see Xander had moved ever so slightly so that he was leaned against the doorframe of his office, rather than the wall next to it. “Hey. Are yeh really-?”

“An order is an order,” Xander cut him off as he folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. “Besides, that man is protecting my prince. I cannot turn his request down.”

“Oh…ok.”

Oddly enough…he did feel safer with Xander hanging around. Well, he was the better of the options anyway.

… … … … …

Roxbury couldn’t help but feel frustrated and annoyed as he hurried from the wharf. To think that a small group of imperials had to audacity to approach and then threaten Ciaran. Why? He hadn’t done a single thing wrong.

He had better mention it to his guild. They would definitely want to keep an eye on one of their favourite Tharsis citizens.

“Well, well, we meet again, leader of Phaedrons.”

An unquestionably annoying voice caused Roxbury to pause in his steps and turn around. The moment he did so, his gaze collided with that of a near-mirror image of his guild-mate, Achyuta. Only this replica held more devious features and intent.

“This is becoming a nightly thing, it seems,” Zesiro continued as he sauntered from the shadows with a mockingly polite expression on his face. “I feel quite honoured. Is there something you want from me?”

Roxbury was somewhat irritated that Zesiro seemed to be suggesting that he had sought him out when it was obvious their meeting tonight was a coincidence. Or maybe the other man had actually been waiting for him?

Whatever the reason, Roxbury sent the red-armoured man a terse look. “I have a few questions for you.”

“Oh?” Zesiro uttered as he quirked his head to the side, his smirk not shifting for a second. “And what makes you think I’ll answer any of them.”

“I don’t,” Roxbury replied honestly.

“I see,” Zesiro said as he straightened his posture as he took a couple of steps toward him. He had his hands folded behind his back, so he didn’t look at all threatening, but Roxbury was still on edge just in case. “Just as well, I suppose. After all…”

Before Roxbury could react, Zesiro unexpectedly grasped at his left shoulder and leaned toward him, his breath ghosting against his ear. “It’s going to take more than one night for me to confess everything.”

“Tch,” Roxbury uttered as he took a step back, pulling himself out of Zesiro’s reach. “Were you at the wharf tonight?”

That question seemed to have caught Zesiro off-guard for a short moment. “No? Should I have been?”

No, he probably wasn’t at the wharf. Ciaran could have mentioned the red-armour immediately if Zesiro was involved. “Never mind. Just…stay away from the wharf.”

Zesiro unexpectedly, but sarcastically all the same, sighed aloud. “Can’t hang out at the inn, can’t hang out at the wharf. Gracious leader, where can I go?”

“You can go to hell as far as I’m concerned,” Roxbury retorted before he had the chance to reconsider his words.

Zesiro, however, seemed absolutely thrilled with his response. “Ooh, testy tonight, aren’t we? Is because of your shoulder? How is it, by the way?”

Roxbury had to fight the urge to reach up with his hand and cradle his still tender shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“You attacked me first,” Zesiro said in a way that was only lightly accusatory.

“Technically, disarming someone isn’t considered an attack,” Roxbury countered.

“Well, I guess I can’t argue with logic, can I?” Zesiro happily replied in a completely sarcastic manner.

Roxbury found himself twitching…Ugh, why was this man so infuriating?

… … … … …

Falkner watched form a respectable distance as Roxbury engaged in a somewhat hostile conversation with Achyuta’s twin brother, Zesiro. Since what happened last night, Falkner had taken it upon himself to keep an eye out on their leader. Roxbury carried unreasonable guilt about the suffering and trauma his guild had endured before the revival of the Titan and didn’t want anyone else to go through such pains again.

Hence the reason why he was trying his hardest to keep the antagonistic Zesiro away from everyone else, especially Achyuta and Nitish. However, it seemed that he didn’t need to work too hard. After all, from Falkner’s own silent observations…

The guy was following Roxbury.

And, while on the topic of stalkers…

“Do you have the quirk of spying on people?” Falkner directed his question to the shadowy figure hunched upon the tip of the awning of a balcony like some kind of deranged gargoyle.

The figure acknowledged his question with a lifting of the head. A moment later, a sickly looking nightseeker effortlessly leapt onto the roof peak, opposite of where Falkner was standing. He stayed crouched for a few drawn out moments before pulling to his full height, his black cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders.

Just as he thought. The man was Telem, the nightseeker that survived the airship crash in the Sacred Mountains.

“I could ask you the same thing, Sniper,” the man retorted, his face expression and his voice hollow.

“I’m merely watching Roxbury’s back,” Falkner stated as he spared a quick glance down at his captain, relieved to find him far from Zesiro’s grasp but still arguing with the other man. As he turned his attention back to the nightseeker, he found him looking at him rather blankly.

“And I am merely observing,” he said.

This guy here seemed to be following Roxbury as well. “For now, right?”

Telem unexpectedly quirked his head to the side, seemingly both interested and intrigued by him. He, however, chose not to respond to Falkner’s accusation, instead turning to confrontation back to him. “You’re protective of your leader?”

Falkner gritted his teeth. “Roxbury is a kind-hearted person. He gives everyone the benefits of the doubt,” he answered truthfully before narrowing his eyes. “I don’t.”

A slight smirk suddenly appeared on Telem’s lips. “You’re a bit two-faced then, Sniper.”

“I just don’t like threats,” Falkner found himself snapping in response.

“Am I threatening to you?” Telem unexpectedly asked as he took a slow step forward, the smirk on his lips growing more…amused was the only word Falkner could think of to describe it.

“Anyone whose motive is unclear is a threat,” Falkner stated as he shifted his posture slightly, revealing his bow on his back and the pouch of arrows strapped to his side. He then glanced over Telem’s shoulder to a nearby rooftop. “Speaking of which, tell your runemaster friend to come out of the shadows before I shoot him.”

Barely any emotion appeared on Telem’s face, but he did lift his chin, as if acknowledging his threat before raising a hand and made a quick motion with his fingers, beckoning someone toward them. “Very well.”

Slowly, barely making a sound, the runemaster Durriken appeared and seemed to glide over to Telem’s side. Standing next to each other, Falkner had to admit that there was a slight sense of intimidation in the air. He remembered clearly how these two attacked Varuna and Nitish without provocation in the Sacred Mountains.

He needed to be careful.

“I thought nightseekers prefer the shadows,” Falkner quipped, doing his best to hide his unease, even going as far as giving the pale and sickly runemaster a lopsided grin.

Durriken regarded him with a slight sense of interest. “Your tongue is as sharp as your instincts,” he retorted in a cool and stoic voice. “But don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Falkner felt his grin drop from his lips, the muscles in his arms and back tensing from a possible attack.

“You’re a little outnumbered here,” Telem commented as he took a step forward, then another.

He then moved to stand directly in front of Falkner.

The instinct to jump back and prepare for an attack was nearly overwhelming, but Falkner stood his ground. It was still unnerving, however, that Telem was only a few inches taller than he was, but far more intimidating than Falkner could ever hope to be.

“Still, I admire your boldness,” Telem continued. “Being bold is what made your guild the strongest in the four lands, correct? Is that a good thing?”

Falkner clenched his jaw tightly. There was a threat in those words. The threat that, perhaps, not everyone was fond of ‘heroes’. That some were actually agitated by their success. And he was fairly certain he know who those ‘someone’s’ could be.

“…I think I get what you’re saying.”

Telem suddenly grabbed Falkner’s chin with his right hand, leaning well into his personal space. The action surprised Falkner greatly, although he hoped it didn't show. He hadn't anticipated any movement from the nightseeker. There wasn't even a twitch in preparation of movement. He was fast.

…He really wasn’t in a good place.

“Good. Then you don’t need me to tell you that not all threats are from monsters, and not all attacks involve you directly,” he said as he tightened his grip on his chin to drive the point home, pulling him closer toward him.

Falkner, however, scowled at him and harshly slapped his hand away. He took a step back, his hand just itching to holster his weapon, but he knew it would be a bad idea at this point in the conversation.

However, Telem surprised him yet again by abruptly turning his back to him and walking away. “Let’s depart.”

“Hm?” Durriken quirked his head to the side as he continued to study Falkner with his piercing eyes. Falkner had to admit to himself that he was, they both were, equally intimidating. “You’re unusually talkative. You like this one?”

Telem paused for a mere moment to glance over his shoulder to look directly at Falkner, making him feel further tension between them. “He amuses me.”

Falkner really didn’t like the way he said that…nor did he like the way Durriken narrowed his eyes at him with a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“He must be interesting indeed,” he murmured. Then he, too, turned on his heel and joined Telem’s side, the two of them slowly disappearing into the shadows of the night.

However, Falkner could hear the two of them share a few short words.

“Well?”

“No, it’s not here.”

“We’re too late then.”

“That Imperial must have it.”

“Yeah…”

Falkner stayed tense and ready until he could no longer hear or sense the two. After a few moments, he breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his shoulders. His confrontation tonight only succeeded in raising more questions, unfortunately.

However, the most prominent was; “What were they looking for?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much once again GrayToneSkies for commenting on the previous chapter! Yes, from now on, whenever I use a kidnapping as a plot device, I shall tag it TheShatteredTrope. Yes indeed. And no one can stop me.
> 
> Due to health reasons (physio and medical tests, ugh!), there won’t be an update next week. Don’t worry; there will definitely be one the following week! And, no, I didn’t plan on leaving it on a cliff-hanger for two weeks. It was mere coincidence. Honestly! Now, I hope you'll enjoy reading!

The clinic was surprisingly quiet as Falkner sat at the kitchen table, his arms folded on top of the table and his chin resting on his forearms.

Bryce, Varuna, Nitish, Achyuta and Zoran were visiting the Lush Woodlands, inspecting and investigating the ‘secret paths’ of the third floor as there had been some strange rumours floating around. Roxbury and Logre were roaming around the city, searching for those imperials that confronted Ciaran last night at the wharf while Fletcher and Blayden were at the wharf, checking out their airships.

And Miach…was undoubtedly lost somewhere. That was probably what Biast was currently doing. He’d be able to sniff out that wistful medic.

“Are you brooding?” Isiah asked suddenly him as he sat at the other end of the table, a cup of some kind of sweet smelling tea in his hand.

“Thinking,” Falkner muttered, not lifting his chin from his arms.

Isiah arched an eyebrow at him before rolling his hand at him, indicating for him to elaborate. “…About?”

About a lot of things. About what happened last night at the wharf. About Roxbury’s confrontation with Zesiro. About his own confrontation with the mysterious Telem and Durriken.

He hadn’t told anyone as he didn’t want to cause his guild to worry, but he had noticed the presence of both Telem and Durriken in town just hours after their skirmish with Nitish and Varuna at the Sacred Mountains. They were barely noticeable, and he hated to admit it, but it took him a couple of hours of surveillance to confirm his suspicions.

Their appearance in town seemed to coincide with the Imperial’s sudden rise of disorder. The Imperials had always been somewhat restless as refugees of Tharsis, but the last couple of days had seen a spike in their confrontational behaviour. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

But…he had never actually seen Telem or Durriken do anything.

“There’s something about that nightseeker that bugs me,” Falkner reluctantly admitted.

Isiah instantly knew who he was talking about. “They’re in town?” he questioned as he leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah.”

“What are they doing?”

“That’s what bugs me; I don’t know,” Falkner practically huffed in annoyance as he lifted his head from his arms. “I just see him from the corner of my eye. Not all the time, just enough to irritate me.”

Isiah rested his chin in his hand as he leaned his elbow upon the table. “You think he’s following you?”

Falkner became silent as he mulled over Isiah’s question. “…I think he’s following someone else.”

“I see,” Isiah muttered as his eyes narrowed in a fearsomely protective way. “Do you think he’s a threat?”

“Don’t know,” Falkner answered quickly, but truthfully. “Nitish would have sensed that he was, right?”

“Varuna, too,” Isiah muttered as a contemplative expression appeared on his face. “Stay on your toes just in case.”

That much was given. “Already am,” he uttered before the two of them soon lapsed into a pensive silence.

Things were starting to get serious. What happened to Ciaran at the wharf was alarming. To think that three Imperials would actually try to use force against the wharf-master for the Black Flame. It may have been a mere display of power, but it could have turned very bad very quickly.

But it was also an indication that not all Imperials were allowing these rouge knights to do as they wish. The Imperial Xander had protected Ciaran and despite his past misdemeanours, Roxbury held enough trust in him to command him to continue with his protection of Ciaran.

Who were the other Imperials that were involved, though? Roxbury was certain that Zesiro wasn’t and Falkner was inclined to agree. That arrogant SOB seemed the type to readily admit any involvement of chaos.

“Isiah,” Mahalah broke the silence as he walked down the stairs from the second floor. “Baldur is gone again.”

Isiah sighed aloud as he placed his tea cup on the table and heaved himself to his feet. “He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“I think it’s good that he’s so feisty,” Mahalah stated with a small smile as he folded his arms over his torso casually.

“It is fun scaring him,” Isiah readily admitted as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Mahalah laughed. “I see.”

“I’m pretty sure I know where the brat is,” Isiah said as he moved to the front door, Mahalah following him out.

With a huff, Falkner also took to his feet to follow. But as he stepped outside he suddenly found himself remembering the question that plagued him for hours last night. Telem and Durriken were looking for something at the inn. Something that an imperial possibly possessed now.

Falkner felt uneasy as he looked over his shoulder at the clinic. Something was going to happen. And soon.

… … … … …

On the outside, Logre looked very much like the famous wanderer he had become before the whole stint with the Yggdrasil Titan. Inwardly, though, he was furious. After learning of Kirjonen’s verbal assault followed by a near physical attack on Ciaran at the wharf by Imperials hours later, he immediately went out in search for answers.

He, unfortunately, got very little. The Imperials he knew were peace abiding refugees who couldn’t answer any of his inquiries as they hadn’t a clue what had happened. And those he was suspicious of as being restless and disorderly refused to answer anything.

While he didn’t have any solid proof, Xander admitting that he wasn’t entirely sure of who was involved in last night’s hostility at the wharf, Logre was fairly certain he knew of one person’s involvement.

Neolani.

That name was starting to become synonymous with trouble.

To verbally abuse Kirjonen and then Ciaran? That was inexcusable. Neither of the two had done anything wrong by the empire.

It wasn’t hard for him to locate the hostile woman. He found her in the middle of the city, harshly scolding a rookie guild of explorers about respecting (and fearing) their superiors. Mainly, she was telling them how inferior other classes were compared to the mighty Imperial.

Honestly…she was giving Imperials a bad name.

Purposely moving to stand between the cowering guild of rookies and Neolani, Logre levelled with a stern gaze. “Were you at the wharf last night?” he immediately asked her, making no attempt to hide his accusatory tone in his voice.

Neolani reeled her head back in surprise at his sudden appearance and question, her mouth dropping open for a moment before quickly snapping shut and an indignant expression appeared on her face. “What if I was?”

Logre narrowed his eyes as the guild behind him quickly fled. “Are you the one who threatened Ciaran?”

“That lowly wharf-master?” Neolani scoffed. “Why are you asking?”

“Ciaran is a good friend of mine,” Logre said, his irritation toward the woman growing stronger at her dismissiveness of her appalling actions.

Neolani unexpectedly barked out a harsh laugh that held no amusement. “Surely you must be joking. He can’t even swing a sword.”

“He doesn’t need to,” Logre quickly retorted. Honestly, being able to wield a sword did not make one vastly superior to one who chose not to.

“He has stolen the Black Flame!” Neolani accused loudly, her lips twisted into a sneer. “That is an insult to the Empire.”

That was her excuse, huh? Quite pathetic, really.

“He didn’t steal the Black Flame,” Logre reminded her sharply. “The Black Flame was willingly gathered by the Phaedron Guild and they allowed for the flame to rest at the wharf. The Source of the Black Flame still exists at the Windy Archives.”  
   
Neolani looked absolutely baffled. “You find no fault in this? How could you not? I suppose you’re absolutely fine with the way our imperials are being treated. The way his highness is being treated?”

She really, really didn’t understand a thing, did she?

“You need to reign in your jealousy, Neolani,” Logre stated, trying to insert some rationality into their conversation. “It would do no good for you to challenge any member from Guild Phaedron. The Imperial Knights are here because of the Count’s kindness and good grace. We cannot upset that balance.”

“But we cannot allow that medic to treat Imperials in such a way!” Neolani shouted at him.

“That medic’s name is Isiah, and he is perhaps the best Tharsis has. Although his methods are a little unorthodox.” To put it lightly. “He is taking great care of his majesty.”

He needed to stay alert and vigilant. He can’t afford to lower his guard just because he was in the right. She was still clearly agitated that he chose to defend Isiah instead of agreeing with her.

Neolani gaped at him like a fish out of water for a few moments before a dark look of disbelief and rage appeared on her face. “…To think that you would trust a lowly medic over a fellow Imperialist?” she hissed lowly at him.

“You really don’t understand life outside of the Imperial army, do you?” Logre retorted, swallowing back his own anger at the irrational and argumentative young woman before him. “You have much to learn.”

“Then teach me!” Neolani unexpectedly shrilled at him. “Like you did ten years ago. Become my teacher again.”

Logre felt uneasy by her outburst. He was never her teacher. He helped in her training a few times, but he had done so with many other knights to assess their skill and training.

She sounded desperate. A little bit too desperate. “That’s not going to work. It’s something you need to learn on your own.” Just like he did.

“Logre! Get your ass over here!”

Isiah’s voice over the bustling of the crowds was a much appreciated distraction. Ignoring the low hiss of annoyance and disapproval from Neolani, Logre plastered a lop-sided grin to his lips as he turned his attention to the rather agitated looking medic.

“What did I do now?” he asked.

“Nothing that I’m currently aware of,” Isiah retorted as he approached him, Mahalah and Falkner not far behind him. “Why?”

“Meh, just an understandable question, right?” Logre said as he turned his back to Neolani completely, no doubt angering the woman further.

“Yeah, yeah,” Isiah replied as he waved off their friendly bantering. “We’re looking for that prince of yours. Let’s go.”

Logre nodded his head and moved to follow, but paused when he felt Neolani suddenly snare his arm with her hand and hiss lowly at him.

“You will be a part of the new empire…”

She then released her hold on his arm and spun on her heel, all but stalking away in a highly agitated manner.

…New empire? He really didn’t like the sound of that.

“Logre?”

“It’s…It’s nothing,” Logre said as he focused his attention on Isiah, giving him a small smile of reassurance. “Let’s go.”

… … … … …

Baldur breathed a sigh of relief as he carefully slipped down an alleyway that lead away from the Researchers’ Clinic. Finally, he had managed to get outside. He had been cooped up in that place for days. He was starting to go stir crazy.

As he allowed himself to simply wander, going with the flow with the bustling masses of Tharsis’ citizens, Baldur glanced down at the book he was carrying in his hands and blinked in surprise. It was the monster codex that Nitish gave him. He must have grabbed it by accident. He had used the book as a cover to make his way down stairs, pretending to be interested in the other books found in the numerous bookcases that littered the Researchers’ Clinic before slipping outside.

This book…was going to be wasted on him. As if he, the Prince to the Imperials, would be free to wander the many labyrinths to actually fill the thing up. He needed to find a way to restore his empire.

“Yeh know yeh dead if Isiah finds ya.”

Baldur immediately winced and turned around the face the red-headed man with the unusual dialect. The wharf-master? Ah, he must have subconsciously made his way to the wharf while lost in thought.

Speaking of the wharf-master, he was looking at him with mild interest on his face while an imperial decked out in dark armour stood passively behind him. He was about to retort something in response when another voice intervened, causing him to turn around to face the airship taking central position at the wharf.

“It’s ok,” the blond-haired landsknecht of the guild said as he leaned over the side of the airship with the name placard of Duscha. “He’s just checking out our airship, right?”

“Hm?” Ah, this was the famous airship belonging to the Phaedron guild?

“Why don’t you come on up?” Blayden said as he indicated toward the boarding ramp that was located a few feet away. “I’ll give ya a hand.”

…It wouldn’t hurt to see what was so special about this particular airship.

“Oh, all right,” Ciaran said as he reached up to toy with a pair of goggles that sat amongst his messy red hair. “As long as yeh don’t leave the wharf.”

The slight swaying of the airship threw off Baldur’s balance completely as he stepped on board and he stumbled to the side. However, Blayden had immediately reacted and caught him before he fell against the side of the gondola. With one arm wrapped tightly around his waist, the other holding his hand to steady him, Blayden effortlessly pulled Baldur back to his feet.

Baldur, however, was surprised by how...easily he became unbalanced. He clutched the Monster Codex against his chest subconsciously when he felt somewhat unsteady on his feet, even with Blayden aiding him. It was like…the gentle swaying of the airship as it sat docked at the wharf was too much for his body to handle.

When did he become so weak?

“Just a stumble,” Blayden said with a smile as he kept his arms around Baldur. “Everyone has one occasionally.”

He then guided Baldur toward the bow of the airship where the scenery of the Windy Plains could be seen easily and sat him down upon a wooden crate. Although Baldur loathed to be manhandled so easily, he was, however, inwardly grateful that he was sitting down. He felt more stable that way.

“Over there is the Old Forest Mine,” Blayden said as he pointed north-westerly direction, toward a small grotto that could be seen near the river that snaked through the Windy Plains. “That’s the first place fledging explorers visit before becoming citizens of Tharsis.”

“Old Forest Mine, huh?” Baldur muttered as he looked over in idle curiosity.

He had heard that name several times before. That was…that was where his father was supposedly buried. That was what Logre and Nitish had told him, anyway. They both had expressed their desire for him to visit…when he was well enough.

“Hey there.”

Fletcher suddenly appeared, startling Baldur greatly as he hanging upside-down from the balloon’s rigging right in front of him. With an impish grin, Fletcher righted himself before dropping soundlessly on to the decking of the gondola next to him.

“Here,” he said as he unexpectedly handed him a set of binoculars. “Have a look.”

Taking the binoculars from the black-haired sniper, Baldur lifted them toward his eyes as he unconsciously kept the book he had been carrying flush against his chest. Focusing on the small grotto, he had to admit that it surprised him.

The vegetation from the Old Forest Mine was completely different that the rest of the foliage found in the Windy Plains. And it wasn’t housed in a building. It was just…in the middle of the plains. What unusual greenery. Tall, thick trees, nearly impenetrable foliage with unusual fan-shaped leaves.

He had never seen anything like it. Logre had told him that the vegetation of the Windy Plains was far different than what he had encountered at the Cloudy Stronghold.

“The Fire Dragon hasn’t been around much,” Blayden commented idly as he leaned against the railing of the gondola to also look out over the plains. “Which is surprising.”

Fire Dragon…that was the monster responsible for his father’s airship crashing, which resulted in his father’s death and stranding Logre at Tharsis by himself. How could Tharsis live peacefully with a dangerous dragon constantly flying around? It didn’t make any sense.

“…You know much of it?” Baldur asked as he pulled the binoculars away from his eyes and turn his attention to the blond.

“Not really,” Blayden said as he turned toward him, casually leaning against his elbow. “Nothing more than it scares the hell out of Nitish. Had a close encounter with the Fire Dragon a while ago. If Nitish didn’t warn us, we would have been toast!”

“There are supposedly other dragons,” Fletcher suddenly said.

That surprised Baldur. “Hm? Here?”

“No, in the Scarlet Pillars and Sacred Mountains,” Fletcher answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “Never seen either of them, but others have claimed they’re around.”

“Hm…” Blayden murmured as an expression of thought appeared on his face. “I wonder if Nitish knows why.”

Again, Fletcher gave an idle shrug. “Maybe he’s the reason.”

Blayden drummed his fingers against the side of the airship. “Could be.”

The airship suddenly swayed slightly, indicating that someone else had boarded. And by the sound of the loud ‘tisk’ that promptly followed, Baldur didn’t need to turn around to lay eyes on the person. He already knew who was coming up behind him.

“There you are.”

“Hey, Isiah,” Blayden greeted cheerfully as Baldur tried his best to suppress the urge to grimace. “We’re just telling Baldur about the Windy Plains.”

“Meh, I’m sure his highness will be happy to learn as much as he can.”

Hm? Logre?

Finally turning away from the scenery of the Windy Plains, Baldur was somewhat startled to see that Logre was standing by Isiah’s side, seemingly comfortable in the other’s presence with dancer Mahalah and sniper Falkner also in their company. Were the four of them looking for him?

…Sheesh. They were a determined group, weren’t they?

Before Isiah could either scold him for sneaking out or physically dragging him back to the clinic, the airship dipped again, indicating even more people. A moment or two later the brown-haired leader of the guild appeared with Biast behind him carrying something. No, carrying someone.

Hanging limply over his arm as he carried him against his chest was Miach, the purple-haired medic looking somewhat confused. He, however, wasn’t struggling in the slightest. He seemed to accept his fate or something.

“Good, you’re all here,” Roxbury said as a friendly smile appeared on his lips.

“Hm?” Mahalah murmured as he turned toward him. “Something wrong?”

Roxbury gave a slight nod of his head before continuing. “There have been reports of a disturbance at the Lush Woodlands.”

“Maybe it's just Bryce and Varuna arguing again?” Blayden joked with a cheeky grin on his lips, prompting a few short chortles or snorts of amusement from the others.

“That’s right,” Mahalah murmured as he folded his arms over his torso. “They’ve having a double date, aren’t they?”

Isiah smirked slightly as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. “With Zoran as the fifth wheel?”

“The little one doesn’t mind,” Biast said as he placed Miach upon his feet. “He adores both pairings.”

“I still want to check it out just in case,” Roxbury said, returning to the topic at hand. “But I don't see the point of all of us going. Actually, I would like Blayden, Fletcher, Miach and Biast to visit a grotto we haven't had time to explore yet. The Dense Bushland.”

Fletcher perked up considerably. “That's the one surrounded by tornadoes, right?”

Roxbury nodded his head. “Right. I heard you can gather Small Flowers there. We can drop you off there while we travel to the Lush Woodlands. You have an Ariadne thread, right? Use that to get back into town.”

Blayden smiled widely, seemingly thrilled to be going on an exploration mission without his big brother. “Sure, ok, sounds good.”

Roxbury nodded his head, his friendly smile never faltering as he turned to regard the short sniper. “Fletcher, you're in charge of the map.”

Fletcher’s grin was almost as big as Blayden’s. “Heh, right.”

“Good idea to have Biast go with them,” Isiah said as he removed his hand from his coat to lightly nudge at Roxbury’s arm. “Keep the munchkins in line.”

“Hey!” Blayden practically squawked with indignation. “I'm a veteran now, you know?”

“A veteran munchkin.”

“If anyone's a munchkin here, it's Baldur,” Blayden suddenly insisted.

Baldur immediately bristled as he turned to the disgruntled blond. “Excuse me?”

Next to him Fletcher laughed. “Haha!”

So Baldur turned to the short sniper. “At least I’m taller,” he simpered at him.

Fletcher immediately wore his own expression of outrage. “Hey! Only by a few inches!”

Baldur snorted as he rolled his eyes. “They still count.”

“Seems like Baldur is settling in well,” Mahalah murmured, an expression of unadulterated amusement on his face.

“Speaking of which; off you go,” Isiah suddenly said as he levelled a glare at Baldur. “You're staying here.”

Baldur frowned and was about to respond in kind when Roxbury unexpectedly stepped in for him, turning to face Isiah and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Come now, Isiah,” he said with that usual smile of his. “I think a field excursion might be good for him. The fresh air of the Lush Woodlands might improve his lungs.”

Surprisingly, Isiah seemed to consider his suggestion. Even more surprising, he nodded his head. “Yeah, alright, fine. I guess it wouldn't hurt to take Baldur as well. This way I can make sure he doesn't run off.”

“It's just to the Lush Woodlands,” Falkner said, speaking up for the first time since arriving. “No real danger there, right?”

“None he could get himself into,” Isiah muttered as he glanced back in Baldur.

Baldur, however, couldn’t help but feel a tad…miffed. What in the world could that man be talking about?

… … … … …

The Lush Woodlands.

It…certainly deserved to be called such a thing.

“What do you think?” Roxbury was the one to ask him as he guided him along a pathway lined with crystal clear pools of water.

Baldur had always liked to think that he was articulate with his words, but after stepping from the airship Duscha and into the labyrinth, he found himself at a loss for words. How could he describe something he had never, ever seen before in his life?

“It’s…so green,” Baldur couldn’t help but mutter as he looked around cautiously.

“There isn’t anything that is dangerously poisonous,” Roxbury told him, seemingly trying to reassure him in some manner. “Varuna and Nitish have already inspected these floors.”

As Logre and Falkner ensure that their airship was well anchored and then debated about the best possible route to take, Baldur found his attention drawn to his surroundings once more. More specifically, to that strange looking tree with branches that spiral upwards like roots instead of normal tree branches.

What an unusual tree. It looked swollen or something to that degree. What could it possibly be?

“Ah. I believe that is called a Baobab Tree,” Roxbury unexpectedly explained as he stood next to him. “Caught Nitish and Varuna’s attention, too, when they first entered this place.”

A Baobab tree? He had never heard of it.

“It also produces fruit which can be handy for crafting,” Roxbury went on to explain before placing his hand on Baldur’s shoulder and guiding him toward a large stone door covered in unreadable hieroglyphics. “Come, this way. We have a couple of floors to pass through yet.”

After passing through a few more doors that was much like the first, they reached a set of stone stairs, they, too, covered in rich writings. The second floor was much the same as the first, unsurprisingly. In vegetation, at least. There were, however, a lot more noise. Like the grumbling and roaring of bears.

No one seemed bothered, though. And they encountered little resistance from the local wild life as they reached yet another set of stairs.

However, as they stepped onto the third floor and through a short cut leading to a large chamber with small pools of water, they were startled by the sound of a horrified screech. Instinctively, Roxbury placed his hand on Baldur’s shoulder to push him behind him as he lifted his shield as the others reached for their weapons. A mere second later, a man dressed in the knightly armour of a Tharsis guard scrambled into view.

“What’s going on?” Logre asked the hysterical man, going as far as grabbing a hold of his arms and forcing him to stand still.

“Imperials!” the man spluttered, looking and sounding absolutely terrified. “They’re-!”

He was abruptly cut off by the sound of a terrifyingly monstrous roar. It was so horrendous that it instantly sent chills up your spine.

Baldur subconsciously clutched his book tighter against his chest as he glanced around at those within his company. From the expressions on their faces, none of them had heard that sound before and didn’t have the slightest idea who or what could have made it.

“They…they did it,” the Tharsis guard murmured, becoming more pale from fear. “They resurrected it.”

Logre tightened his grip on the man’s arms and shook him slightly, trying to gain the man’s attention. “Resurrected what?” he asked sharply, only for the man to suddenly slump in his hold, as if passing out from the fear alone.

Logre quickly lowered the man to the ground and rested his unconscious form against the base of a tree. Cautiously, Roxbury moved toward the strange alter like structure at the very northern end of the room. Placing his hand on it, the structure glowed for a moment before seemingly unfurling, revealing a doorway to a pathway on the others. He then slipped through.

Staying as a group, the rest followed. Baldur included. That man, that Tharsis soldier muttered something about Imperials. He needed to see what was going on for himself. He couldn’t rely on second-hand accounts anymore.

Logre, however, didn’t looked pleased as he turned to face them as a group, no doubt ready to bark something about either proceeding forward or command that someone take Baldur to a safer location.

Before he could utter a word, though, another loud roar ripped through the air, much louder than before. A split second afterwards the set of doors located at the northern side of the chamber burst open and a group of three Imperials covered head to toe in heavy armour rushed out. One of them paused for a mere moment to jam their driveblade into the threshold of the stone door, keeping it open.

“Imperials?” Baldur muttered as he furrowed his brow in confusion.

“What are you doing here?” Logre demanded as the three headed in toward them. Instead of stopping, though, the three continued.

“Leaving you a present,” one of them sneered at them, not slowing down for a second as they rushed past and then disappeared through the shortcuts within the labyrinth’s walls.

“A what?” Logre muttered before whipping around in the direction where the three had kept the door open and became still.

A monster that could only be described as a sandy-coloured dragon ambled into view, gnashing its jaw violently as its large red wings battered aggressively against its back in a purely agitated manner.

“W-what’s that thing?” Roxbury stuttered as the dragon threw its head back on a monstrous howl.

“Hell if I know,” Logre muttered as he reached for his carry bag, his face set into an expression of solemnity. “Get ready.”

Baldur felt the terrible sense that something was looking at him with pure, unadulterated malice.

That dragon creature. It was…looking straight at him. And was approaching him. Quickly.

“Baldur!”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much GrayToneSkies for commenting on the previous chapter! Sorry for not being able to reply the last couple of days. I've been feeling ill and sorry for myself. I was also determined to finish this chapter, hell or high water. Anyway, enjoy reading! Don't worry, there will be a chapter next week as well!

Reacting purely out of instinct, Baldur clutched the monster codex tightly against his chest as he lowered his head, bracing for impact. However, instead of tremendous pain, he instead heard the sound of a sharp metal clung followed by something grasping onto his shoulder in a desperate and somewhat harsh grip.

“Logre!”

Suddenly, Baldur was shoved to the side. No, he was thrown to the side.

“Hold on!”

Baldur then found himself held up in Logre’s arms as the older man picked him up effortlessly and carried him away. “B-but…” What had happened?

“ _ **Roxbury!**_ ”

At the sound of Mahalah’s horrified cry, Baldur lifted his head up and quickly looked around in a frantic manner. He immediately understood why Mahalah sounded so upset.

Where Baldur had been standing only moments ago was Roxbury, pinned to the ground with only his shield between him and the gapping jaws of that monstrous dragon. He was using both his arms and one of his legs to brace himself against the shield. His weapon, a spiked mace, had somehow been flung to the side and out of reach.

Not that he had the time to actually use it. How could he when the monster’s teeth were scraping wildly against his shield? Of which was offering only the inconsequential of protection. It, however, was the only thing stopping the monsters from wrapping its jaws around the fortress. It was constantly thrashing its head around, forcing Roxbury to continuously readjust not only the position of his shield, but his grip on it as well.

An expression of sheer concentration was on Roxbury’s face as beads of sweat appeared on his brow. He was using all his strength and mental capacity to stay alive.

"Logre, do something," Baldur ordered with a surprisingly amount of desperation in his voice the second Logre set him down upon his feet. "He's going to get killed!"

A deep scowl appeared on Logre’s face as he studied the enormous beast. He muttered something under his breath as he dropped the large bag he always carried and opened it up. He then pulled out his driveblade, the darken and harden metal glinting in the light.

Holding it in one hand, Logre stood up to his full height. “Isiah, Falkner, watch his highness for me.”

“I’ll give you some cover fire,” Falkner responded as he reset his bow, placing a surprisingly amount of bolts within the string.

“Hurry up,” Isiah muttered between his whispering of healing spell. “I can only do so much from a distance.”

With a stony expression, Logre vaulted toward the dragon, not worrying about the arrows that were whizzing around him and bouncing off the creature’s thick skin.

“The others,” Mahalah murmured as he shook his head in fear and disbelief, his eyes frantically searching their surroundings. “Bryce, Varuna, Nitish, Achyuta and Zoran. Are they all right?”

“I can’t see any bodies,” Isiah stated with little emotion. “I’m sure they’re elsewhere on the floor.”

“Please…”

The sharpness of the driveblade may have not been enough to cause major injury, but it should have been enough to gain the creature’s attention, even in short bursts. But it wasn’t doing anything.

Why was it so intent on destroying Roxbury? Baldur knew that some fortress had the skill to taunt a monster; to force it to focus its entire attention on them, but Roxbury didn’t have the time to use a skill. Maybe his presence alone was enough to enrage the fiend?

“Just as we had thought,” a new voice uttered, surprisingly calm despite all the mayhem. “It's too late.”

Falkner immediately bristled “He's not dead yet,” he hissed as he glanced toward the tree line, to where the shadowy form of a runemaster appeared.

“I wasn't talking about him,” the pale and seemingly frail runemaster simpered in response, his expression stoic and his gaze cold. “Although, his life is clearly in the balance.”

“Then help us out,” Falkner all but demanded as he revealed a set of his strongest arrows.

The runemaster was silent as he glanced over at Falkner before turning his gaze back to Roxbury. His expression remained impassive, but he seemed to mutter something under his breath. “...working on it…”

Baldur suddenly remembered that he had that book Nitish created for him. To analyse and document all monsters encounters. He never really understood why he had carried to book with him since then, but…

He quickly placed his hand on the cover of the book where the powerful spell was etched in the leather. “Burst Skill: Analysis!”

The book in his hands suddenly levitated in front of him. A strange wind picked up, prompting the book to open and the pages to flutter in the breeze. It went back quite a few pages, almost near the very end of the book itself before promptly stopping. Then, on the blank pages, lines started to appear, skirting over the paper.

Then words and a black and white drawing of the monster appeared.

Sand Leviathan.

As the book floated back to his awaiting hands, Baldur lifted his head up when he felt that someone was staring at him. And he was right. The guild’s redheaded sniper was looking at him with a confused, yet curious look.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

“A burst skill,” Baldur murmured as he chewed on his bottom lip. “Nitish gave it to me. It’s used to gather information on monsters.”

A look of understanding appeared on Falkner’s face and he nodded. He then suddenly moved, positioning himself to stand directly in front of Baldur, shielding him in his own way. “Then stay behind me. What does it say?”

Baldur quickly glanced down at his book, skimming the notes. “It's weak to ice but resistant to fire. And…that’s it.”

“Did you hear that, Durriken?” Falkner asked rather tersely, directing it to the gaunt looking runemaster.

“Won’t mean a thing until we get him away,” the runemaster known as Durriken replied just as tersely.

Falkner fired off a couple of arrows, hoping to distract the Sand Leviathan, but it appears that nothing will tempt it from its current objective.

“Dammit,” Falkner cursed before glancing over his shoulder. “What else does it say?”

There wasn’t much else the book could offer him, but a short, two sentence description. “A sand-coloured dragon that spits fiery balls of sand. Though it is enormous, its wings do carry its weight.”

“Great, so this thing can also fly?!”

Not if Logre took out a wing.

“Logre, use freeze drive to take out its wing!” Baldur ordered.

Logre didn’t need to be told twice. Inserting an ice cartage into his driveblade, he lunged forward and with expert control, sliced right through the dragon’s left wing with a single strike. The appendage fell to the ground with a thud, blood spurting high into the air from the stump. Not only should the loss of a limb gain the monster’s attention, it should have weakened it in some manner.

But…it didn’t.

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” Baldur muttered in disbelief as the dragon kept its full attention on Roxbury, thrashing its head around violently to cause as much damage and injury to the fortress as possible. “It’s missing a wing. Why isn’t it reacting?”

“This is no ordinary monster,” Falkner muttered after firing a volley of arrows which had no effect whatsoever.

“It was resurrected,” the runemaster known as Durriken stated. “So it will not behave like other monsters you have encountered.”

How much did that runemaster know about this creature’s birth?

"Damn it," Falkner hissed as he reset his bow. "I hadn't anticipated anything like this..."

A series of explosions from elsewhere in the labyrinth suddenly shook the ground beneath their feet. Alarmed as the eruptions sounded suspicious like that of a driveblade in a continuous ignition, Baldur turned to his left. He could see trees shaking from some violent force before abruptly cracking and crashing to the ground. There were a series of them, one after the other.

…And they appeared to be travelling toward them.

Something powerful and deadly was heading in their direction!

“Baldur!” Falkner called out to him, motioning for him to move closer toward him, to take shelter behind him.

Knowing that there was little he could do without armour or a weapon, Baldur edged closer to the redheaded sniper. “What’s happening now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Falkner answered honestly. “But stay behind me.”

Out of the thick foliage of the labyrinth, a man in dark clothing similar to those worn by nightseekers appeared, seemingly scrambling for his life. His cloak and clothing were torn in several places and splashes of blood could be seen.

Most striking of the man, however, was a look of fear on his pale face.

“Telem?” Durriken stuttered as the nightseeker scrambled over to him, falling to his knees in front of him. “What happened?”

“He's stronger than we realised,” the nightseeker known as Telem murmured breathlessly.

Durriken placed his hands on his shoulders in a small display of comfort. “Who did you attack to get his attention?”

“The landsknecht,” Telem replied with a shake of his head. “I wasn't expecting such a reaction. He assassinated everything in his path...”

Telem suddenly stiffened and he whipped his head around to look over his shoulder, his eyes wide.

Startled, Baldur instinctively turned to look as well and immediately winced when a large tree, one of the Baobab kind was suddenly felled, cut cleanly in half. As the tree hit the forest floor another figure appeared, behind him a seeming trail of destroyed trees.

It was the red-cloaked nightseeker, Varuna. Hanging idly in his right hand was a driveblade, burning red hot and whirring noisily. His shoulders were hunched forward and appeared somewhat unsteady and hazy, and yet as he walked, his steps were silent and powerful. He looked foreboding. And that was before Baldur realised that he was splattered in splotches of blood.

Did…was he the one who cut down all those trees? With a _driveblade?_

“What did you do?” Falkner hissed to the other nightseeker.

“He's in Silent Assassin Mode now,” Telem explained hastily as he sprung to his feet, seemingly oblivious to his injuries and, with a great amount of trepidation, pulled himself into a fighting position.

“Silent Assassin?” Baldur murmured, his brow furrowing as he turned his attention back to Varuna. As soon as he did, he had to hold back a gasp.

Varuna’s head was drooped forward, his long white hair covering his face. Saved for his right eye, peering through a slight parting in his bangs. The eye was…a deadly, piercing colour of red.

“It was the only way,” Telem murmured as he pulled out a long, thin blade from his cloak.

Suddenly, Varuna stopped dead in his tracks and head jerkily rolled back and twitched to look in the direction of the Sand Leviathan. His piercing red eye just stared at it.

His eye then narrowed.

In a flash of red, Varuna was standing next to where the Sand Leviathan had Roxbury pinned to the ground and fighting for life. Before the monster could realise he was there and so close, Varuna reached into his cloak and pulled out a single knife. With a startlingly quick flick of his wrist, the knife was abruptly embedded in the monster’s eye.

The Sand Leviathan immediately screeched from the attack and started to lift its head up. Gripping at the driveblade with his two hands, Varuna lifted it high over his head. There was absolutely no expression in his face (not even a grimace from exertion) as he brought the weapon down, cleanly cutting through the Sand Leviathan’s neck, taking its head completely off with a single strike!

B-but how?

Blood sprayed up and out into the air like a geyser as the head tumbled to the ground some feet away from where Roxbury was. The body of the monster twitched in its death throes before crashing to the ground in a heap.

A spot of blood splashed against Varuna’s cheek, under his right eye. Yet again, absolutely no reaction from him. He just stood there, letting the driveblade he wielded so easily to hang limply in his grip.

A tense silence fell over the chamber, everyone looking at Varuna with expressions of pure and unadulterated shock on their faces. They could barely believe what had happened. For Varuna to so easily…

What impressive _power._

A grunt of pain from Roxbury broke the silence and everyone immediately turned their attention to him. The fortress was covered in his own blood, his armour and clothes ripped in so many places. He was so badly injured. A moment longer and he…

"Varuna..." Roxbury murmured as he struggled to sit up, his obvious injuries causing him great discomfort. Then, on his pale and pain-stricken face, an expression of gratitude appeared. "T-thank you."

Unexpectedly, Varuna's piecing red eye seemed to soften, as if he was relieved. That was the first time there was any form of expression on his face.

The driveblade in his hand, however, was whirling out of control!

"Get rid of that thing before it explodes!" Logre shouted, his commanding yell barely holding back his fear.

Instinctively, Varuna raised the arm that held the driveblade and then proceeded to throw it at the body of the Sand Leviathan, embedding it deep into the carcass. Baldur thought it was a strange thing to do as it was obvious that the monster was already dead. However, he quickly saw the merit to it when the driveblade exploded, the body kept the shrapnel contained.

"We better leave," Durriken muttered as he pulled his hand into his robes to reveal an Ariadne Thread. He tightened his hand around it just as Varuna languidly turned to face them, warping him and his partner Telem out of the labyrinth.

Everyone became silent once more, waiting as Varuna continued to stand in the middle of the chamber, covered in blood and next to the decapitated body of the Sand Leviathan. Suddenly, he began to stagger on his feet, swaying awkwardly as he tilted his head back. He abruptly became still as he looked up at the sky.

He then screamed and held his head. "Stop it! Shut up! Get out! Get the fuck out!"

"Varuna!" Isiah called out, yet he looked uncertain and bewildered. He had his mace gripped in his hand, but he was unwilling to use it.

But...knocking him out might be the best for him, right?

"Varuna!"

The shouting of his name from elsewhere caused Varuna to suddenly tense, his hands lowering slowly from his face.

Out of the forest, from the path that Varuna had carved out for himself, Bryce appeared with a streak of blood from his neck that dripped over his armour. He immediately raced over to Varuna and wrapped his arms around him from behind, one arm around his middle as the other moved over to cover his eyes. He rested his chin on Varuna's shoulder and held him tightly.

"I'm here, I'm ok," Bryce said as he carefully lowered them both to the ground. "I'm fine, we're all fine. You can stop now."

As if a switch had been flicked, Varuna stopped struggling and fell limp in Bryce's arms. They both collapsed onto the ground, Varuna resting against Bryce's chest as the landsknecht continued to hold him as tightly as possible, whispering things in his ear.

"Oh my god, Roxbury," Mahalah murmured as he raced over to the injured fortress.

Isiah was, of course, right behind him. He slipped onto the ground next to Roxbury, unconcerned by the splatters of blood staining the grass. He dropped his bag next to him and proceeded to pull out rolls of bandages and bottles of medicine. His attention was focused solely on Roxbury, his expression serious.

He must be in a pretty bad way after all…

“Bryce, wait!”

Out of the same opening, Achyuta abruptly appeared. He was carrying Nitish in his arms, who of which looked washed out and extremely pale. Trailing behind them, clutching as his sceptre tightly in one hand while the other held the hem of Achyuta’s shirt was Zoran. The little vessel looked confused and frightened.

“W-what happened here?” Achyuta stuttered as he took in the surroundings, his gaze flickering over to the body of the Sand Leviathan before stopping to rest on Roxbury, whom of which was relying heavily on Mahalah for support as Isiah healed him.

“Varuna…” Nitish murmured as he began to stir in Achyuta’s arm. Dutifully, knowing that Nitish needed to be with his brother, Achyuta gently lowered the runemaster to his feet, reluctantly letting him stumble over to Bryce and Varuna.

Achyuta then turned his attention back to Logre, looking utterly bewildered. “Sir Logre, what in the world-?”

“Not sure,” Logre murmured, cutting him off as he took a moment to glance around as well. “First, can you fill me in with what happened to you?”

Subconsciously, Achyuta stood to attention. “We were investigating the western part of this floor when Nitish suddenly fainted,” he explained with a slightly pained look on his face. “He awoke a few minutes later to tell us of an extreme malice in the air. However, before he could tell us anymore, Telem suddenly appeared before us and attacked Bryce, slicing at his neck. There must have been some kind of either paralysing or sleeping agent on the knife as he went down immediately. This happened directly in front of Varuna. And he...he stole my driveblade and proceeded after the threat. He, ah…destroyed everything in his path.”

Logre was silent as he mulled over what he had learnt. “That would explain quite a bit.”

“So, ah, what happened here?” Achyuta asked, his gaze once again falling onto Roxbury. His concern was quite evident in his eyes.

“Don’t have all the details, I’m afraid,” Logre said as he sighed and roughly scratched the back of his head. “This...monster-”

“Sand Leviathan,” Baldur provided for him.

“Sand Leviathan...” Logre repeated before trailing off, looking greatly unsettled. “Was seemingly resurrected by a small group of imperials.”

“I see...” Achyuta murmured, also looking rather disturbed by the thought. He then turned his attention to Baldur, his expression lightening a mere fraction when he spied the book in his hands. “Ah, that’s the book that Nitish gave you, isn’t it, your highness?”

Baldur idly trailed his fingertips over the spell infused leather cover. “It is.”

He then turned his attention over to where Bryce was holding Varuna in his arms, Nitish kneeling next to them as he gently held Varuna’s hand in his. His expression was a mixture of pain and sadness, almost on the verge of crying.

“There’s nothing more I can do here,” Isiah was heard saying, his tone surprisingly weary.

Tearing his eyes away from where Varuna was being comforted, Baldur watched as Mahalah cradled Roxbury’s head on his lap, running his fingers through his hair as Isiah tightening a bandage around his bared midsection. Roxbury had his eyes closed and he seemed to be breathing deeply, as if the intake of air was also hurting him.

It wouldn’t be a surprise if he had several broken ribs. At the very least.

Isiah looked tired, but he still pushed himself to his feet. “Bryce?”

“I'm fine,” Bryce immediately answered as he kept his arms wrapped tightly around Varuna, whom of which looked to have fallen unconscious. “Zoran took care of it.”

“Hm?”

“Zoran here used a combination of Head Snare, to clot the bleeding in Bryce's neck and Release Heal to heal his injury,” Achyuta explained as he looked over at the small vessel, reaching out to place a hand on the little one’s shoulder and pushing him forward.

Isiah looked relieved, granting the vessel a small smile. “Great job, Zoran.”

“Un.” Zoran nodded his head as he tightened his grip on his sceptre. “I've learnt greatly from you and Baldur.”

Baldur found himself blinking in surprise. How in the world did he learn anything from him…? Oh, right; test subject. _Perfect._

The smile on Isiah’s face soon disappeared, however, and he sighed deeply. “Logre. I need you to carry Roxbury for me. He can’t put any more pressure on his wounds. Mahalah, ensure he doesn’t fall unconscious.”

“Right,” Logre dutifully replied as he placed his driveblade back into his bag. He was about to holster it upon his shoulder when Falkner tugged his from his grip. With a nod of acceptance, Logre allowed the sniper to carry his belongings before jogging over to where Roxbury rested.

“Easy,” Mahalah murmured as he and Achyuta carefully moved Roxbury so that Logre could carry him on his back, positioning him in such a way that it wouldn’t cause him further pain.

“Bryce?”

“I’ve got Varuna,” Bryce announced as he effortlessly lifted an unnervingly still Varuna into his arms, cradling him against his chest. “Achyuta, take care of Nitish.”

Achyuta was immediately by Nitish’s side, helping the fragile blond to his feet before fluently sweeping him up into his arms once more. “Yes, of course,” he said as Nitish curled in his arms, wrapping his arms around Achyuta’s neck and pressing his face against his shoulder.

“Falkner, I need you to lead us out,” Isiah commanded before finally turning to look in Baldur’s direction, giving him a very tired look. “Baldur, stay with Zoran.”

“Sure,” Baldur muttered as he clutched the codex against his chest and allowed the small vessel to take a hold of his hand.

His mind reeled as the large group of them hastily made their way through the labyrinth and to their awaiting airships. What was that creature? What did they mean by resurrection? How was it resurrected? Why was it? Who did it?

The whole event was startling and confusing. What really bothered him the most, though, was the fact that Imperials, his Imperials, seemed to be behind the whole thing!

Why? Why would his Imperials do such a thing?

He wasn’t going to overlook this. He couldn’t. It was inexcusable. It was deplorable. Those involved…needed to be punished.

But first; he needed to know what the hell was going on!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This month has officially sucked! Why won’t it end already?!?!  
> Ahem…sorry.  
> Anyway, thank you so much ToneGreySkies for all your comments and messages. They are truly the highlight of my days. No exaggeration. With your support, I'll continue to write to the best of my ability! :3

After their near fatal ambush in the Lush Woodlands by Imperials, a thick and pained tension hung over Tharsis and the Phaedron Guild themselves.

The three ‘munchkins’ of the guild, as Isiah liked to call them, were utterly shocked to see them in such a state when they had returned. Roxbury barely conscious on Logre’s back, Nitish pale and drained against Achyuta’s chest and Varuna unconscious in Bryce’s arms. The sight of them was a shock to everyone.

Immediately, everyone went into a strange form of controlled panic mode. Isiah was barking out orders to everyone and every single person did as they were asked without any hesitation.

Roxbury had been moved from the patient room to Isiah’s personal bedroom, allowing the leader of the Phaedron guild to rest in a more comfortable setting. Varuna had been unconscious during the entire flight back to Tharsis and was currently being watched over by Bryce. Nitish was suffering from what Isiah called emotional and psychic fatigue and ordered rest. He had Achyuta with him.

As everyone else from the guild fussed about, Baldur was ushered into the seating area, where he had sat silently the entire time, resting the Monster Codex on his lap. When the party that investigated the Dense Bushland demanded to know the details of what happened, Falkner sat them down in the seating area and explained to the best of his ability.

“Dammit! I knew we should have gone, too!” Blayden’s indignant voice seemed to echo throughout the Researchers’ Clinic.

“Don’t get all pouty on us,” Isiah scolded only lightly as he eased himself down onto a couch, slouching back into the cushions in a slightly haggard manner. “We didn’t know the bastard was there.”

“Still…” Fletcher murmured as he chewed on his bottom lip, lost in his own thoughts before turning his focus back to Isiah. “Is Roxbury ok?”

“He’s going to be fine,” Isiah stated in a firm manner, lifting his head up enough so that he could glance in the younger brothers’ direction with a firm, yet honest expression. “He’ll be out of commission for a while, but he’ll live. So I’m going to need your help ensuring that he doesn’t try to take on the selfless leader role again.”

Blayden forced a small grin to his lips. “You’re going to need all the help you can get,” he added, seemingly trying to break the tension that was starting to become rather suffocating.

Baldur felt an unexpected prang of guilt in his chest. Roxbury was hurt because he had protected him from the Sand Leviathan. He had willingly and purposely put himself in his place, pushing him to safety while taking on the full wraith of that deranged dragon himself.

Was that something all Fortresses did? Or something that he did?

“So you used a Burst Skill?” Blayden unexpectedly commented, pulling Baldur from his thoughts. “Looks like that spell will come in handy.”

Baldur glanced at the blond sitting next to him for a moment and nodded his head idly. “Hm….”

Monsters, maybe. But not people.

…Not Imperials.

“Something on your mind?” Isiah unexpectedly asked him.

And equally unexpectedly, Baldur answered. “They did it on purpose.”

Isiah snorted lightly as he allowed his head to loll backwards to rest on the couch’s headrest. “That's pretty obvious.”

“No, that night-seeker and runemaster,” Baldur reiterated before turning his attention to the redheaded sniper who was sitting backwards on a wooden chair, his arms folded over the back of the chair and his chin resting on his arms. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”

“Yeah,” Falkner said as he lifted his head and sat up straight as he turned his attention to Isiah. “He means they knew about the Sand Leviathan’s possible existence before we did and tried to stop it. They purposely put Varuna into what they called 'Silent Assassin Mode' in order for him to kill the Sand Leviathan. They said it was the only way.”

Isiah arched a somewhat sceptical eyebrow. “They told you this?”

“Eavesdropping,” Falkner admitted freely with a slight grin as he glanced over toward Baldur. “Right?”

Baldur could only nod his head.

Isiah let his head flop back onto the cushioning of the couch as he hummed in thought. “Interesting.”

“ _ **Get away from me!**_ ”

A scream of utter terror caused everyone to nearly jump out of their skins. Isiah sat up straight in his seat while Falkner leapt to his feet, still edgy from their previous battle. That scream, however, sounded dishearteningly familiar…

“Was…was that Varuna?” Blayden asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Immediately, Isiah was on his feet and making his way up the stairs. Curious, and maybe even a little bit concerned, Baldur climbed to his feet and promptly followed, Blayden and Fletcher having the same idea.

“You better stay back,” Isiah warned in a firm manner as they rushed up the stairs.

“What’s going on?” Baldur asked when he noticed that all the members of the Phaedron guild (except Roxbury, of course) had gathered in the hallway outside of Varuna’s bedroom. They looked shocked, concerned and most of all, bewildered.

“D-don’t come near me!” Varuna was heard screaming from his room, his voice high-pitched with a sense of fear and extreme anxiety. “I’m dangerous! I’m too dangerous…”

“Varuna, please…” Nitish pleaded softly.

“Varuna, listen to me!” Bryce’s voice was heavy with desperation. “You’re not dangerous! We’d never let you be dangerous!”

“I assassinated a fucking dragon!” Varuna shrilled. “What if…? What if it was…?”

A deep scowl appeared on Isiah’s face as he turned his attention back to Baldur and the young brothers behind him. “You kids don’t need to see this.”

“I’m not leaving,” Blayden retorted firmly, going as far as planting his foot on the ground. “Varuna needs our support.”

“Stay out here,” Isiah commanded once last time, his tone was sharper, more authoritative than ever before. He then spun on his heel and marched over to Logre, the other man looking unsettled and surprisingly guilty about something.

Annoyed with the command he was given, Baldur spared a quick look at Blayden and realised that the blond was feeling agitated and concerned. With Isiah busy speaking with Logre, they edged closer and peered into the room, Fletcher kneeling on the floor, Baldur looking over his shoulder while Blayden looked over his. What they saw was somewhat…startling. Varuna was huddled into a far corner of his room, his knees pulled up toward his chest and his fingers tugging harshly at his hair.

Kneeling on the floor on either side of him were Bryce and Nitish, the two looking worried and baffled. They appear desperate to offer Varuna some form of comfort, but the nightseeker was too deep in his own inner torment. Every time Bryce or Nitish tried to reach out to him, Varuna would shrink away, seemingly curling deeper into himself.

…What was going on?

“Varuna must be remembering what happened with the Sand Leviathan,” Blayden whispered to him, a great sense of sadness in his voice. “He always feels intense guilt after killing something.”

Guilt? But why? He destroyed a deranged and powerful monster that was set on killing his entire guild! If he hadn’t done what he did…who knows what could have happened?

“He has a fear of accidentally hurting someone from our guild,” Blayden continued, as if he had read his thoughts. “He, ah…can’t control himself sometimes.”

Oh…

Silently, Logre walked into the room and lowered himself to rest on his knees, purposely putting a bit of distance between him and Varuna, to give the nightseeker the space he needed right now.

“I'm sorry, Varuna,” Logre said, his voice solemn and surprisingly gentle. “I do not know the exact details of your training, but...I do know this. You were designed to take out any and all threats. And only threats. Your heightened senses give you the ability to discern what is a threat to you and those around you, and what isn't. And that's what you did today.”

Slowly, Varuna lifted his head from his knees, revealing a pair of bloodshot eyes and red, puffy cheeks that were stained with tears. He stared unblinkingly at Logre, an expression of disbelief on his face.

“You perceived Telem as a threat and you followed your instincts,” Logre continued, keeping his voice gentle and empathetic, while also comforting. “And when you appeared before the Sand Leviathan, while you were furious at Telem for attacking Bryce, he wasn't the greatest threat to us. The Sand Leviathan was. And you reacted.”

The tight hold Varuna had on his own hair slackened lightly. His hands dropped completely to the floor when Mahalah slowly walked into the room and crouched down next to Logre, the two of them keeping their movements slow and peaceful, not to startle Varuna any more than he was.

“Varuna, you saved Roxbury's life today,” Mahalah said, his words purposely simple yet powerful. “You saved all of us. None of us was in danger of you. None of us were afraid of you. We have absolutely no reason to be. You've never threatened us in all the time we've known each other.”

“I...I threatened Bryce before...” Varuna murmured as he shook his head slightly.

For a moment a look of confusion appeared on Mahalah’s face, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. He, however, quickly regained his peaceful persona and smiled. “Oh, well, who hasn't threatened him?” he joked.

Bryce immediately bristled. “Hey.”

Mahalah glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow in question. “Oh?”

Bryce opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, seemingly trying to come up with a retort of some kind. “…I can’t dispute that, but I retain the right to be indignant.”

A slight smile appeared on Mahalah’s lips. Bryce’s comment was somewhat…out of place, regarding the circumstances, and yet it was also refreshing in a way. It didn’t shatter the tension that hung over the room, but it did dampen it somewhat. Just a bit more and maybe…

“What I'm saying is; thank you,” Mahalah said as he turned his attention back to Varuna. He shuffled forward slightly, and upon seeing no negative reaction from Varuna, he reached out to gently take his hand in his. “Roxbury is alive because of you. That's all that matters.”

“You…” Varuna stuttered, nearly choking on his own tears. “You’re not afraid of me?”

Mahalah gently ran his thumb over the back of Varuna’s hand and looked him straight in the eyes, not in an intimidating manner, but gentle and reassuring. “Of course not.”

Varuna became silent as he stared with wide eyes at Mahalah, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. After a few intense moments, his face suddenly crumbled as fresh tears appeared in his eyes. “…I’m sorry,” he sobbed as he turned to look up at the brown-haired landsknecht who had been there silently the entire time. “Bryce…”

Bryce immediately dropped to his knees and pulled Varuna into a tight hug, Varuna clutching him tightly as he buried his face into his shoulder. Bryce began to whisper something to him that was inaudible as he ran his fingers through Varuna’s hair, comforting him. Nitish knelt next to them and rested his hands on Varuna’s back, letting his touch offer his brother even more comfort.

“We’ll be downstairs if you need us,” Mahalah said gently as he pushed himself to his feet and made the motion with his hand for everyone to quietly leave.

“I’m sorry,” Varuna was heard mumbling against Bryce’s chest. “I’m…I’m all right now.”

His words weren’t as jumbled or…emotional as before, so it was reassuring. Bryce, however, refused to release his hold on him and probably won’t for quite some time. He was going to make sure he was all right.

As everyone silently left the room, parting ways, Baldur couldn’t even imagine what was going through their heads. He wasn’t nearly as close to Varuna as they were, and the whole thing was startling to him. He…didn’t like that expression of torment on his face. He seemed so…

“Mahalah, thank you,” Nitish said as he quietly closed the door to Varuna’s room.

“Not at all,” Mahalah immediately said as he moved closer to the runemaster, easily pulling him into a hug, of which was readily returned. “It was the truth. You should get some rest, too.”

“I will be able to now,” Nitish said as he pulled away from the dancer, offering him a warm smile that was filled with gratitude.

“Take care of him, Achyuta,” Mahalah ordered lightly as Achyuta escorted Nitish to his room.

“Of course.”

Baldur watched in silence as the three parted ways, Nitish all but falling into Achyuta’s arms as he guided him into his room and Mahalah headed to Isiah’s bedroom, where Roxbury was currently recuperating.

“Maybe you should get some rest, too, your highness,” Logre promptly suggested, appearing as if he had just realised that he had been there the entire time.

Baldur glanced over at the closed door to Varuna’s bedroom before turning his attention back to Logre. “Tell me,” he unexpectedly commanded. “About Varuna’s abilities. He was trained to aide my father, right?”

Logre shifted somewhat uncomfortably on his feet. “It’s a long story.”

“I have plenty of time.”

For some reason, that seemed to have brought a slight smile to Logre’s lips. He nodded his head, though, and then escorted Baldur to his room at the clinic. Placing the Monster Codex he had been unconsciously carrying the entire time upon the table under the window, he sat on the edge of his bed while Logre sat on the wooden chair.

“I do not know of the full details,” Logre stated as he leaned his elbows on his knees, a deeply serious expression on his face. “But a faction of the elders wished to experiment with other classes, or more specifically the runemaster and nightseeker class as they were deemed the most useful. Varuna and Nitish were orphaned as babies and were twins. One of the elders saw this as a sign of their significance and placed them into harsh training.”

Baldur furrowed his brow slightly. “Wait, they were only children?”

“Yes.”

“But, why?”

“Younger the better, I assume,” Logre replied with a shrug, but he didn’t appear all that convinced. “I don’t know the full details of their training methods either, I’m afraid. I only really know of Varuna and Nitish as they were on the same airship as your father and I. There were, however, others that were chosen for the voyage as well.”

“There were more than two?” Baldur questioned, surprised by this revelation. “I’ve never met any other class other than imperial.”

It was Logre’s turn to look surprised. “Perhaps they suspended their experimentation?” he suggested.

Baldur, however, wasn’t convinced. They…wouldn’t give up so easily, would they?

“So I take it you don’t know of Telem and Durriken?” Logre suddenly asked him.

Baldur felt his confusion grow further. “That other nightseeker and runemaster from today? What about them?”

Logre looked uncomfortable as he pulled himself to sit up straight in his seat. “They were on another airship on the same voyage. And, apparently…they made it back to the Cloudy Stronghold.”

“What?!” Baldur practically shrilled before abruptly quietening down. “There were other survivors that were able to return? Why didn’t I know about them?”

“Sorry, I can’t answer that, your highness,” Logre said around a sigh as he shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Baldur could barely believe what he was learning. He had no idea that anything that Logre had told him even existed. Children being trained to become nightseekers and runemasters. Other survivors of the fleet. What else were they hiding from him?

“I…I don’t know anything…”

“It’s not your fault,” Logre offered gently.

“No…” Baldur murmured as he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. Logre could be right. It might not be his fault that he lacked certain knowledge. How could he ask questions on a subject he never knew existed?

If he had known…

“Varuna’s training. It’s hurting him, isn’t it?”

Logre sighed deeply and raked his hand through his hair. “…From what I understand, he doesn’t have any memory of his life in the Cloudy Stronghold. He hears the voice of his ‘mentor’ in his dreams. He relies purely on instinct. His body reacts before his mind could ever register what was happening.”

“And today?”

“I honestly have never seen him like that,” Logre answered truthfully. “I must admit…if he hadn’t gone into Silent Assassin Mode, there would have been causalities. It may have been different if we had time to prepare for battle. We were surprised.”

No, not surprised. Ambushed.

“…What about Nitish’s abilities?”

Logre was silent for a moment, seemingly trying to put Nitish’s abilities into words, which would be difficult as Nitish’s skills were best described as…magical.

“He possesses amazing psychic abilities. He can sense the emotions of others and read the energies of objects. His abilities to sense the aura of monsters and FOEs has saved his guild multiple times. However, there is a draw back. He’s very sensitive to the energy fields around him and can become overwhelmed and drained easily.”

So…his abilities and training was hurting him as well.

“It is possible that Emperor-your father carried some important documents with him during the voyage,” Logre suddenly stated as he leaned against his knees once again, his hands folded under his chin. “However, because of the Fire Dragon…Maybe I should speak with Ciaran…”

Baldur blinked at Logre’s mumbling. “The Wharfmaster?”

“His father was the one who discovered the crashed airship,” Logre explained. “And ultimately, the one who drew up the blue prints so that Tharsis could manufacture their own form of airships. There’s a chance that he salvage as much as he could of the wreckage. Maybe he found some of the documents.”

“Could he have known their significance?” Baldur couldn’t help but ask.

Logre closed his eyes in thought. “Probably not. But, knowing the man, he was a bit of a hoarder. They must be buried somewhere in the wharf.”

“…They can wait.”

Logre opened his eyes and gazed at him. “Hm?”

“Unless you think the documents would be useful with our current situation, they can wait until a later date,” Baldur stated in a resolute manner. “I think we first need to deal with those rogue Imperials before we start digging into the true history of the empire.”

Logre granted him a genuine smile. “As you wish.”

… … … … …

His head was absolutely throbbing when Roxbury drifted back into consciousness after what seemed like an abrupt and sudden nap. As he waded through the murkiness of post-awakening, he slowly began to realise that it was not only his head that was hurting. Everything was. His arms, his back, his chest, his legs, even his hips.

In other words…he felt like shit.

Not the way a leader of a guild should think, but there were really no other way to describe it. The numbness, the discomfort, the pain. He felt like he was attacked by a dragon.

Wait…he was!

The others? Are they all right? What happened?

“Good, you’re awake.”

“Mahalah?” Roxbury muttered through chapped lips as he instinctively tried to sit up, only to falter when a sharp pain erupted from his ribs, causing him to curl slightly toward the pain to dampen it in some way. “Ow…”

“None of that,” Mahalah chided as he placed his hand on Roxbury’s shoulder (the uninjured one, of course) and pushed him down unto something soft and comfortable, forcing him onto his back. “Keep still.”

Pressing his lips together to ward off the feeling of nausea from his abrupt movements, Roxbury rolled his head to the side to look over at Mahalah. “Varuna…is he all right?”

Sitting on a wooden chair next to his bed, Mahalah smiled warmly, seemingly having expected that question. “He had a bit of a breakdown to be honest. He terrified himself.”

Roxbury frowned. “But-”

“He’s all right now,” Mahalah interrupted as he raised his hand, signalling him not to worry. “Bryce is with him.”

Seeing the truth in Mahalah’s eyes, Roxbury sighed and sunk heavily onto the bed he was lying on. Gazing up at the ceiling, it took him a couple of minutes to realise that he wasn’t at the inn. “Where am I?” he asked as he looked around the room, noting several book cases overflowing with books.

“Isiah’s room,” Mahalah answered. “He wants you to rest.”

Roxbury furrowed his brow as he licked his lips. “His room? Where is he sleeping?”

Mahalah smiled as he slid off the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. “His office, probably.”

Immediately, Roxbury felt a sense of guilt rush through him. “He shouldn’t-” he started to protest as he tried to sit up once again. However, Mahalah placed his hand against his chest and, without much effort, pushed him back down onto the bed.

Ah, that was why he moved from the seat. Was he that predictable?

“Never argue with a medic,” Mahalah said firmly as he removed his hand from his chest to point a stern finger at his face.

“Right,” Roxbury sighed as he settled against the mattress once more. The bed was really quite comfortable. “Everyone else ok?”

“Yes, everyone is fine,” Mahalah stated more so than answered. “If it helps, you’re the worst off.”

Oddly enough, that was reassuring. “Good.”

“Get some rest,” Mahalah commanded, his tone light but the intension was serious. “Your big brother orders it.”

Roxbury felt a wary smile appear on his lips. Of course he had to bring that up. “You’re only a few months older than I am.”

Mahalah tapped his forehead with his index finger. “They still count.”

Despite the slight discomfort in his chest, Roxbury chuckled lightly. “…Sure,” he muttered as he lifted an arm and draped it over his eyes, feeling rather tired all of a sudden. “Anyway…I’ll be fine.”

Mahalah hummed in response as he shifted from the bed. “Yes, you will be. I’ll check up on you later. Try to get some sleep.”

“You too,” Roxbury murmured before drifting quickly off to sleep.

… … … … …

It was dawn when Baldur decided that he didn’t want to try to sleep anymore and quietly made his way downstairs. It didn’t surprise him the slightest to see that Isiah was also up and moving about in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Isiah greeted as reached the bottom of the stairs. “Manage to get any sleep?”

“A little,” Baldur admitted as he walked over to the kitchen seating area and sat down at the table, crossing his legs in a somewhat lotus position on the chair. “Where’s Logre?”

“Out hunting for answers, of course,” Isiah answered as he pulled out a few tea cups from the cupboard.

Baldur had figured as much, but he thought it was best to at least ask. After all, asking questions was the only way for him to get any answers.

“I guess that Falkner is after the runemaster and nightseeker?”

“You got it,” Isiah said before glancing over his shoulder at him. “Breakfast?

Baldur gave a slight shrug of his shoulder. “Tea is fine. I’m not that hungry.”

Seemingly not in the mood for an argument, Isiah nodded his head in acceptance before busying himself filling a kettle full of water and placing it on the stove. As the kettle began to boil, a soft creak from the stairs gained Isiah’s attention. Glancing over his shoulder in mild curiosity, a look of displeasure soon appeared and he turned around completely.

Turning to look as well, Baldur immediately understood why Isiah wasn’t at all happy. And, honestly, he had to admit that he was surprised.

Should Roxbury be up and about so soon?

“And what are you doing?” Isiah didn’t so much ask, but demand.

“Sorry,” Roxbury said sheepishly as he leaned against the handrail. “I couldn’t get comfortable.”

Isiah gave him a highly critical stare and Baldur waited for him to march over to Roxbury and manhandling him into going back upstairs. Instead, Isiah sighed and made his way over to the fortress, taking him by the arm and lifting it behind his neck. He then helped Roxbury to limp slightly over to the seating area and onto a couch.

“Don’t move from here,” Isiah ordered as Roxbury tried to get himself comfortable, resting heavily against the cushions. After seeing that he was settling down, Isiah headed back toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you something to drink. You think you can handle any food?”

Roxbury scrunched up his nose slightly. “…No, not at the moment.”

“Roxbury!?”

A mere second after that seemingly squeal of surprise and joy, two members of the Phaedron guild suddenly appeared and all but lunged at Roxbury. A look of utter surprise appeared on Roxbury’s face before he laughed aloud. Blayden was leaning over the back of the couch, his arms wrapped around Roxbury’s neck in a hug while Fletcher kneeled on the couch next to his leader, hugging his arm tightly.

Despite wincing from discomfort, Roxbury had a smile on his lips and appeared somewhat amused. “Easy now,” he said after a small chuckle as the two fired off questions at him.

Surprised by Blayden and Fletcher’s actions, Baldur turned to look at Isiah, half expecting him to chide the two about being careful with their leader. Instead, he found Isiah smiling slightly as he made the tea. He wasn’t remotely annoyed. In fact, he seemed to have expected the two to react in such a way with their leader.

Baldur couldn’t help but feel confused. As their leader, Roxbury should be left untouched, right? To allow such displays of affection was unheard of. Baldur was told that it would only lead to weakness…

“Morning, Varuna!”

Pulling himself from his musings, Baldur instinctively looked over at the stairs and saw that Varuna had made it about halfway down before Blayden had spotted him. A slight wince appeared on his face as he quickly descended the rest of the way down.

“O-oh, good morning,” he muttered when he realised that he was the centre of attention.

Fearlessly, and without any hesitation, Blayden walked straight up to Varuna. “Are you feeling better?” he asked with genuine concern.

Varuna nodded his head as he shuffled awkwardly on his feet. “Ah, yes, thank you.”

“That’s good,” Blayden said with a bright smile. “We’re all relieved.”

A light blush appeared on Varuna’s cheeks and he seemed to be at a loss for words. He nervously glanced around before his gaze settled upon Roxbury, who was sitting on the couch and looking at him as well.

A somewhat pained look appeared in Varuna’s eyes as he walked toward him, stopping a few feet away. “Roxbury?”

“They’re not as bad as they look,” Roxbury said reassuringly with a smile, motioning to the visible white bandages that peeked out from his clothing. “Really. They could have been a whole lot worse.”

Varuna continued to look unsure and uneasy. Noticing this, Roxbury unexpectedly motioned for Blayden and Fletcher and help him to his feet. As the two younger brothers helped Roxbury to stand, the brown-haired fortress did something surprising. He took a slight step forward and pulled Varuna in for a hug.

“Thank you, again,” Roxbury said, his voice sincere.

Varuna was at first startled by the embrace, but quickly relaxed and wrapped his arms around Roxbury, his hands gripping on the back of his shirt in an almost desperate manner. “…I’m glad you’re ok,” he muttered as he pressed his face against his shoulder.

…Touch was really important to this guild, wasn’t it?

“Are they really all right?” Baldur couldn’t help but ask quietly as Isiah placed a cup of tea on the table in front of him.

“Yeah, they’ll be fine,” Isiah answered with a smile as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the kitchen table. “Roxbury’s defence is second to none and Varuna has the amazing ability to adapt quickly.”

A slight, muffled cough immediately caught Isiah’s attention, causing both him and Baldur to look in the direction of the stairs once more.

“Ah, m-morning,” Achyuta offered meekly as he entered the kitchen area.

“Your lungs playing up again?” Isiah asked him, his eyes slightly narrowed.

“I’m afraid so,” Achyuta answered honestly with a tight smile. “Nitish is sleeping, finally. And I didn’t want to disturb him.”

“Your medicine’s here anyway,” Isiah said as he pushed away from the table and walked toward the kitchen bench. “I’ll get it.”

“Thank you,” Achyuta said with genuine relief. He offered Isiah a small smile when the medic returned a mere moment later with his medicine in a blue cup.

With his medicine in hand, Achyuta immediately made his way over to Roxbury and sat down next to him to speak with him. He even shared a few words with Varuna, the nightseeker looking more comfortable then he was before. Varuna said something to Roxbury before hurrying upstairs. He was either checking on his brother or he remembered that he may have something to ease Roxbury’s discomfort.

Roxbury was…quite the beloved leader, wasn’t he?

The front door to the clinic unexpectedly opened and Logre quickly stepped inside, his shoulders tense and his expression grim. Upon seeing that the seating area was rather full, a lopsided smile appeared on Logre’s lips and he nodded his head in Roxbury’s direction, stating that it was good to see him up and about.

However, the smile was tight and forced. Not remotely sincere in any manner. In fact he…

“You looked pissed,” Isiah commented the second Logre was close enough.

“To put it lightly,” Logre all but seethed in response.

Logre glanced over his shoulder, beckoning slightly with his chin to Achyuta to join them before casting a quick assessment around them. Whatever he had to say must be important…

“I’ve found out who helped in the revival of the Sand Leviathan,” he said, his voice low, not wanting anyone but the four of them to hear.

“Who?” Isiah immediately asked as they huddled around the table.

“Neolani,” Logre practically spat.

The cup in Achyuta’s hand suddenly exploded. It took Baldur a second to realise that it was due to him suddenly tensing his hand around the cup, causing it to crumble under the pressure. A wince appeared on Achyuta’s face as pieces of the cup pierced his skin.

“Shit, I mean, sorry,” he muttered as he glanced apologetically over at Isiah and dropped the remains of the cup onto the table to be cleared up later.

Isiah, however, simply grabbed his hand to immediately administer his healing, not scolding the man in the slightest. It was as if his reaction was understandable.

“I should have known…” Achyuta muttered tersely under his breath before glancing over at Logre. “But why?”

Logre shook his head. “Good question.”

“Who’s Neolani?” Baldur asked. He had no idea who this Neolani was or what they could have done to have the normally placid Achyuta bristling with hatred.

“…Long story,” Logre muttered.

So Baldur gave him a pointed look.

The corners of Logre’s mouth twitched, as if threatening to break out into a smile. But he steeled himself as moment later as he sat down at the table next to him. “It was during the time where you were preparing for the Titan’s resurrection. Neolani, an Imperial soldier, had organised and led a raid on Tharsis, attacking the Count as a distraction to kidnap Nitish on your behalf.”

“Kidnapped Nitish on my behalf?” Baldur repeated, a scowl slipping across his face. “I ordered no such thing.”

“She was working without your consent, sir,” Achyuta quickly explained as Isiah finished up his healing of his hand.

“You don’t know of her?” Isiah asked him.

Baldur thought for a moment before shaking his head. “I can’t say that I do.”

For some reason, Logre’s expression darkened after that admission.

“How did she manage to do such a thing?” Achyuta asked, returning to the topic at hand.

Logre sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “From what I understand there is a book filled with magical formulas. With the remains of any creature, no matter how old, they are able to resurrect it.”

Baldur’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “Are you saying that any monster can be reborn at their discretion?”

“Seems like it,” Logre muttered in response. “And I bet the Sand Leviathan was just a test for something else.”

The conversation suddenly hushed when Varuna and Nitish both wandered down the stairs and toward the seating area. The twins immediately made their way over to Roxbury, sitting on either side of him.

“We probably shouldn’t let Varuna know of Neolani’s involvement just yet,” Isiah said, his voice low and serious.

And Logre nodded his head in agreement. “Hm. I think so, too.”

This time Baldur didn’t need to ask what they were referring to. He already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be fun. Maybe not for Ciaran, if you know what I mean… :3


	12. Chapter 12

The back garden of the Researchers’ Clinic was really quite beautiful and peaceful. No wonder that Nitish and Biast were often found amongst the sweet fragrances of flowers and herbs. Roxbury had never really been the one to sit down and simply bask in the silence. He was used to moving about and strategizing his guild’s next move.

However, since that ‘incident’ at the Lush Woodlands with the Sand Leviathan, he had been ordered by practically every one of his guild to stop and rest for a while.

Two days had passed since then. Roxbury’s injuries had been healing nicely, though they were still lingering and causing him some annoyance. Three broken ribs; fractures in his femur, tibia, humerus and radius bones; bruising and lacerations of his arms and chest. He had a lot to complain about. He, however, would simply grit his teeth and bear it. After all, the outcome could have been a whole lot worse.

Leaning back into the seat that was situated out in the garden, Roxbury gently placed his hand upon the mop of white hair that was resting against his leg. Zoran was sleeping on the seat next to him, his head on his thigh, his little hands grasping at the material of his pants. The little vessel had been left greatly shaken by all harsh events that had taken place recently.

Zoran murmured something in his sleep, stirring restlessly. So Roxbury carefully stroked his hair, lulling him back to sleep. Which he thankfully did, nuzzling his cheek against his thigh.

Roxbury was glad that Zoran wasn’t there to witness his…mauling by the Sand Leviathan. In fact, he was glad that he had foresight to send the little brothers of the guild to another location under Biast’s watchful eye. He was fairly certain none of them would have been able to handle it. Sure, they have witnessed some terrifying monsters and events in their time, but they’ve never witnessed a savage beating like that.

Shame that Baldur had to see it. He seemed to be taking in stride, however. Which was…unfortunate.

In all honesty, Roxbury remember the whole incident vaguely. He remembered seeing the sand coloured dragon loom over Baldur and he remembered the powerful instinct to push the prince aside and take his place. After that, it was a bit of a blur. Only thing he could really comprehend was the intense desire to live.

Isiah had reassured him that it was his body’s natural response mechanism. He was in danger, so he reacted to said danger. Flight or fight. Both, in his case. Fight back enough to escape. Taking in details, remembering events – they weren’t important.

Varuna had admitted to him that he, too, vaguely remembered what happened that day. He remembered seeing Bryce attacked, blood coming from his neck seemingly in a spray before crashing to the ground, not moving. After that…take out the threat. Destroy everything that was a danger.

The Sand Leviathan, he confessed, didn’t look like the one in the picture that Baldur showed him from the Monster Codex. He didn’t remember seeing the red wings or its sandy coloured scales. He just saw the outline of it and felt its intense primal rage. And saw that Roxbury was in danger.

After that, he saw only its neck. The easiest way to take out a threat was to take off its head.

Roxbury was intensely grateful for Varuna’s interference. He had saved his life. And potentially saved the lives of everyone there. But…he also felt a sense of guilt. He wished he could have been there to reassure Varuna when he suffered his breakdown.

Varuna insisted that he was fine now, but Bryce was still watching him like a hawk, more protective and concerned about him than usual. And Varuna had made no attempt to brush off the landsknecht. Obviously, some residual fear still lingered. And would for some time yet.

Everyone was still on edge. Which was understandable. Logre was silently seething about Imperials being involved, but would not divulge to him how or why. He said it wasn’t important to his recovery and wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise. Even the reliable and cheerful Falkner had been taking off on his own, seemingly determined to hunt some information down.

…It was like pre-Titan resurrection all over again.

“Here.” The sound of another’s voice pulled Roxbury from his thoughts. As he lifted his head up he saw Achyuta was standing beside the seat with a cup of some kind of tea in his hands.

“Some medicinal tea,” Achyuta said as he offered the cup toward him. “Should help with your recovery.”

“Hm? Oh, thanks,” Roxbury said as he took the cup of tea from Achyuta, offering the ex-imperial a grateful smile before taking a sip.

It was still startling how different Achyuta was from his twin, Zesiro. It shouldn’t be a surprise, though. After all, they had been separated for twelve years. They were brought up in different circumstances, so it only made sense they developed different personalities.

Speaking of that…antagonistic twin, he’d probably had some idea of what was going on with the band of rogue Imperials. Was he involved, though? His read armour was his signature mark, but he could easily change out of it, disguising himself by dressing in a different set of armour.

For some reason, Roxbury didn’t want to believe that Zesiro was underhandedly involved with the chaos. Maybe it was because he was Achyuta’s twin? The man was arrogant and dangerous, that was pretty clear. But…

“Are you feeling all right?” Achyuta suddenly asked him as he rested his forearms against the back of the chair. “I mean besides the injuries.”

“Hm?” Roxbury murmured as he pulled the tea away from his lips. “Why do you ask?”

“You just look a little frustrated,” Achyuta pointed out with a slightly apologetic smile.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Roxbury automatically reassured as he rested the cup of tea against the arm of the seat while the other absentmindedly stroked Zoran’s soft white hair, the vessel still thankfully asleep. “The injuries are healing just fine. Just…a couple of restless nights, I’m afraid.”

“…Is my brother bothering you?” Achyuta unexpectedly asked him after a quiet moment.

Roxbury felt a frown tug at his lips. “What makes you say that?”

Achyuta gave a slight shrug of his shoulder. “Just a feeling.”

“Is he bothering you?”

“In a way,” Achyuta confessed with a humourless chuckle. “I’ve hadn’t been able to have a word with him since. It’s strange. How he came all this way to reveal himself to me, yet seems to be avoiding me now.”

Roxbury pressed his lips together in thought for a moment. That was strange. No, it was suspicious.

“I wonder…” Achyuta continued with a softly pained expression on his face. “If he hates me.”

“How could he?” Roxbury asked with a protective bristle.

Achyuta shook his head almost mournfully. “I should have been looking for him.”

“You thought he was dead,” Roxbury quickly pointed out.

“Still…”

“There’s more to him than meets the eye,” Roxbury stated firmly as he lifted his tea to his lips and took a sip. “He’s planning something. I don’t know what and I don’t know why. It’s just…this feeling I have. Let’s wait and see for now.”

Achyuta was silent for a few moments before smiling softly and nodding his head. “Yes, alright,” he said and glanced down at Zoran sleeping peacefully. “I better leave the two of you in peace now. I’ve ordered a new driveblade from the Atelier. Hopefully it’s done now.”

“Do you need money for it?” Roxbury asked as Achyuta pushed away from the chair and straightened up.

“Sir Logre is paying for it,” Achyuta replied, still smiling politely as he headed inside. “He insisted.”

Roxbury couldn’t help but wonder if it was really Baldur who insisted.

Finishing the rest of his tea, Roxbury found his attention drawn back to the back door of the clinic, watching as Nitish silently stepped out, his hands folded in front of him in his usual elegance. However, he looked somewhat shaken and pale.

“Roxbury,” Nitish called to him and walked straight over.

“What’s wrong, Nitish?” Roxbury immediately asked, a frown tugging at his lips.

“I had…a vision of sorts,” Nitish slowly confessed as he clutched his hands in front of his chest, looking uneasy. “A dream. About you.”

Roxbury blinked. “About _me?”_

Nitish nodded his head almost solemnly before closing his eyes and dropping his chin toward his chest. “I see you…surrounded by shadows. Dark shadows. Yet, one of them is red…Trust the one that is red.”

Roxbury remained silent, rendered speechless by how sincere yet desperate Nitish’s words sounded.

“I do not understand anything more than that,” Nitish murmured, surprisingly bitterly as he opened his eyes to turn them toward Roxbury, his blue eyes shimmering with concern and fear for his safety. “But please, be careful.”

“I will, don’t worry about me,” Roxbury automatically reassured.

Nitish, however, continued to look at him sadly for a moment, seemingly frustrated that he wasn’t able to offer more. He then sighed and reached for the empty tea cup, murmuring something about Roxbury taking care of himself before hurrying back inside.

Watching Nitish disappear from sight, Roxbury gently ran his fingers through Zoran’s hair, half to lull the vessel back to sleep, the other to calm himself. If Nitish was worried that something terrible was going to happen to him…

How can he make sure that the others of his guild don’t suffer as well?

… … … … …

Logre was really starting to feel pissed off. Fucking shit, that was an understatement.

Yet again no one on the street could offer him a single bit of advice or leads about anything. Were they too frightened to say anything or did they truly not know what was going on? Had Neolani silenced them with the threat of violence? Or were they in on the chaos, wanting to resurrect the Empire?

Unfortunately, Logre didn’t know the answers to those questions. And he couldn’t trust any of his fellow Imperials. Not now. Not yet.

With a frustrated grunt, Logre decided his best course of action was the wait it out until the next ‘incident’ at the clinic with the rest of his guild. It would be best if they stuck together for a while.

Reaching the Researchers’ Clinic, Logre paused for a moment to pick up the bundle of mail at the front step, noticing a couple stamped with a long distance label, before heading inside. As he headed toward Isiah’s office, he overheard the twins talking quietly to each other in the patient room where they were most likely keeping themselves busy by restocking medica and cleaning medical instruments.

“There’s something going on,” Nitish said with a sigh. “Yet I am avoiding it somehow.”

“Yeah, I feel the same,” Varuna replied. “These extremists are causing trouble, but the second Bryce and I turn up…Do you think these extremists are purposely avoiding us because of our…skills?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“They’re up to something,” Varuna murmured darkly. “Something serious.”

“Yes,” Nitish sighed again. “I don’t like it.”  
   
“Neither do I. “

“Whatever they are planning…they are desperate to succeed.”

“Let’s be ready for anything.”

“Yes. That’s all we can do.”

Logre felt a twinge of guilt hit him square in the chest. However, he was also reluctant to involve the twins further. After all they’ve been through because of Yggdrasil and the Empire…he didn’t want them to suffer any more.

Running a hand roughly through his hair, Logre walked into Isiah’s office. “Here, I got the mail,” he said when he found said medic at his desk.

“Hm?” Isiah murmured as he lifted his head up from his work before leaning back in his seat and taking the bundle of envelopes from Logre’s grip. “Thanks. How are things on the street?”

Logre sighed as he scratched the stubble on his chin. “Quiet for now.”

“Good I suppose,” Isiah murmured as he shuffled through the letters, picking a couple out before promptly throwing them into a bin. He then pulled out two letters, placing them on his desk as he pushed the others aside for the time being.

“Can’t help but notice you’ve been getting a lot of long-distance mail lately,” Logre commented.

Picking up said long distance letter, Isiah wasted no time opening it. “Hm. I’ve been in touch with a hospital far north from here,” he admitted as he unfolded the bundle of paper. “There’s a state of the art hospital there. Just been bouncing ideas off of them.”

Logre’s brow furrowed with a sense of protectiveness. “About Baldur?”

“Relax,” Isiah said as he waved a dismissive hand at him. “No names are mentioned and the medic I’m communicating with hasn’t asked. Besides, he wouldn’t know Baldur from a bar of soap. They’ve got their own problems.”

Logre relaxed a little at that. He was right, after all. He, however, couldn’t help but let a small smile slip across his lips. “A medic, huh?” They seemed to gravitate toward each other, regardless of distance.

“Yeah, he was recommended by the head doctor at the hospital,” Isiah explained with a somewhat satisfied grin. “A rising star in the healing field, apparently. Been healing near mortal wounds since ten years old. Gets his experience through exploration and is able to make a diagnosis of a patient within minutes of seeing them. Seems like a good kid.”

Logre nodded his head idly before a frown tugged at his lips. “Baldur in pretty bad shape then?”

Isiah made a slight motion with his hand. “Yes and no. He’s not cursed anymore, but his healing is taking longer than I would like.”

The two of them lapsed into silence as Isiah read his latest letter. He flicked through the letter suddenly, heading to the back page. Logre was about to leave him be when Isiah abruptly sat up straighter in his chair and tapped his chin in thought as he scanned the paper in front of him.

“Hm…That might work,” he murmured.

“Your pen-pal offered a suggestion?” Logre asked as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Indeed,” Isiah said as he placed his hands atop of his desk and pushed himself to his feet, turning to face Logre so that he could explain further. “From what he had deduced, Baldur is still suffering from a lingering curse. Not the Yggdrasil Curse exactly, but the shadow version, if you will. He suggested creating a potion that will heal the four spectrums of a person.”

Logre arched an eyebrow. “Four spectrums?”

“Physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually,” Isiah rattled off before shoving his hands into his pockets and moving to leave his office. “He also suggested the use of a sapphire, which I think we have. He also sketched out a possible recipe. I’ll get Nitish to work on it when he’s free.”

Logre watched Isiah wander from his office before glancing down at the letter he had left on his desk. He had the urge to read it, to simply sedate his protectiveness of his prince. But he probably wouldn’t understand the medical jargon that medics would prattle off like some kind of code. Besides, he trusted Isiah’s instincts. If he believed that the other medic’s suggestions had merit, then they must be trustworthy.

Also, he didn’t want to be caught snooping around. It’s been a good few weeks since he had been threatened with Isiah’s mace. He wanted to keep that record in-tack.

… … … … …

Like so many of the others residing in Tharsis, Ciaran was highly on edge. With so many strange and dangerous things occurring lately, it was all understandable. Especially after what had occurred a couple of days ago regarding Tharsis’ most beloved guild.

He didn’t know the all the details, but something had happened at the Lush Woodlands that resulted in Roxbury being seriously injured. That thought alone was pretty scary, to be honest. Roxbury was a fortress. None had greater defence then him. So to be beaten so badly…

Roxbury was healing fine, though. Isiah had assured everyone that he was going to be back to normal in a few more days. He just needed rest.

A slight flickering of the lantern in his office that held the Black Flame pulled Ciaran away from his work and he briefly glanced outside. It was getting dark. After what had happened to him a few nights before, he was reasonably more cautious when the sun went down.

Ciaran found his attention drawn to the Black Flame when it flickered again.

He couldn’t communicate with the Black Flame like Nitish could. However…he felt as if it was warning him somehow.

Pushing away from his desk, he cautiously moved toward the door of his office and peeked outside. A step or two was a far as he managed to venture before something appeared right in front of him.

Startled, he took a step back. He soon found himself breaking out into a cold sweat when he realised that something was actually an Imperial. And they weren’t alone.

There were three of them. Again. Two where further at the back, standing before an airship while the other, in the dark blue armour (and seemingly leader of the small group) was closer to him and his office.

“Yeh guys again?” Ciaran muttered in an attempt to hide the unsettling feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. “What do you want now? The Black Flame had made it obvious that it doesn’t like what yeh doing.”

The Imperial in the dark blue armour seemed to be staring at him, although he couldn’t be sure. They were just standing there, facing him.

“…You seem most fond of this airship,” the same feminine voice from the other night suddenly stated.

“Airship…?” Ciaran questioned before trailing off when he laid his eyes on the ship the two at the back were standing in front of. He felt a cold shiver race down his spine. The airship was the Duscha.

They wouldn’t…would they?

“What are you talking about?” Ciaran asked, trying to keep his nervousness in check.

“Isn’t this the one that the city’s most beloved guild uses?” she questioned before abruptly lifting her chin in some kind of signal. Responding, an Imperial behind her proceeded to lift a driveblade with one hand over their head, seemingly ready to bring it down upon the Duscha’s hull, no doubt causing significant damage to the aircraft.

“S-stop!” Ciaran spluttered as he took a hasty step forward. “Get away from it!”

There was a flash of light before a strange tingling sensation suddenly appeared from his right arm, and his arm suddenly fell limp, resting against his side. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t all that painful either. It was a strange numbing feeling, like something just hit him lightly, but strong enough to cause his arm to suddenly go numb and listless.

Instinctively, he reached over to touch his right arm. He immediately felt a wet sticky substance and flaps of _something_ thick and warm. And when he pulled his hand away to look at it, he noticed that it was stained red. A deep, dark red. Like blood.

“W-what are yeh doing?” Ciaran stuttered as he lifted his eyes from his hand to stare dumbfounded at the imperial in front of him.

“You really need to mind your own business, wharf-master,” the imperial chided in a frightening manner as she tapped her weapon against her leg idly. “This is for the sake of the empire.”

They really were going to attack him.

Ciaran could only watch in disbelief as the driveblade was raised into the air. Over him. Focused _entirely_ on him. All he could do was to close his eyes and wait for the impact of either pain…or nothingness.

A loud clang, like metal hitting metal suddenly echoed throughout the wharf, causing him to snap his eyes open. When he did, all he could see was dark armour of someone standing directly in front of him.

“Idiot!” a familiar voice scolded loudly. “I told you not to walk around by yourself!”

Ciaran blinked. “Xander?”

It really was him. Xander was standing between him and the imperial that attacked him, their driveblades locked together in battle, pushing against each other with all their strength.

“Leave,” Xander hissed out at him as he somehow managed to dislodge his blade, pushing the other back a few steps. “Now.”

“But…I can’t,” Ciaran murmured as he glanced over at the airship. “I can’t let them damage Duscha.”

“It’s just an airship!”

"B-but they need Duscha!"

Xander unexpectedly spun around to grab him by his uninjured arm and pulled him toward him, forcing him to crash against his armour clad chest. "You are far more important to them than a couple of airships," he said, his voice stern and yet somewhat sincere as well. "You need to run. Now."

For some reason, Ciaran was unable to argue back. Something in Xander's words and in his voice prompted him to listen and to do as he said. Wordlessly, he nodded his head and when Xander released his hold on his arm, Ciaran turned on his heel and ran, not looking back. Even when he heard the sound of an explosion, like that of a driveblade being used.

He clutched his numbing arm with his hand as he ran through the surprisingly quiet streets of Tharsis, refusing to look over at his arm, even as he felt something thick and warn drip down to his hand. However, as he turned a corner while heading toward the Researcher's Clinic, he heard the sound of heavy duty boots pounding the pavement. A mere moment later, he almost collided with a familiar group of explorers. Varuna, Bryce, Falkner, Biast, Logre and Achyuta. They seemed to be heading toward the wharf.

"Ciaran!" Varuna said, his eyes widening the moment he saw that he was clutching at his arm. He was immediately by his side, examining the wound. His eyes widen further before he unexpectedly ripped at his red cloak, pulling off a large piece of material and hastily wrapped it around his arm, pulling it painfully tight.

"What happened?” Logre asked him. “Is someone attacking the wharf?"

"The airships," Ciaran said through his panting. "They're targeting the airships, they-Xander is fending them of, but-"

"Nitish told us that he felt a disturbance at the wharf," Achyuta explained quickly before looking him over for any other serious injury. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"N-no, just the arm."

“I’ll take him back,” Falkner abruptly said as he pushed Varuna aside to take his place next to Ciaran, placing his hand over the injury, which must be an attempt to try to stem the bleeding. “You guys go ahead.”

“We’ll take care of this, Ciaran,” Logre promised as he and the others rushed toward the dangerous heedlessly.

Feeling lightheaded all of a sudden, Ciaran weakly turned to Falkner. “Falkner, Duscha…”

“Duscha can be easily fixed,” Falkner said as he wrapped his arm around his shoulders, keeping his other hand on his injury as he all but dragged him hastily toward the clinic. “Sure, it might take a day or two, but our baby girl can be fixed. Don’t worry.”

Ciaran sighed as he pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. “Sorry, I just-”

“Never mind,” Falkner said as he looked at him from the corner of his eye, giving him a slightly lopsided grin. “Let’s get you to Isiah.”

As they made their way quickly to the clinic, Roxbury was waiting outside, at the bottom step. “Ciaran?” He murmured, looking alarmed before his expression smoothed out and he promptly reached out to help Ciaran up the stairs and hastily inside. “What happened?”

“Imperials are attacking the wharf,” Ciaran explained, feeling immediately safer now that he was inside the clinic and surrounded by people he knew and trusted. “One of them attacked me.”

“Tch. Those bastards,” Isiah muttered as he deftly pushed Roxbury aside to all but haul Ciaran toward the patient room. “Sit on the bed and keep your arm above your chest.”

Wordlessly, Ciaran did as he was instructed. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Miach to raise the head before swivelling and resting against the pillows of the bed. He released his hold on his arm and turned his head away from the sight, not really wanting to see how badly damaged his arm was. The way everyone was acting was alarming…  
   
“Roxbury, don’t think about it,” Mahalah chided as he moved to stand by Ciaran’s injured side, taking his arm and physically holding it so that it was above his heart, so that he wouldn’t lose any more blood.

“But…” Roxbury began, but trailed off when Falkner grasped his shoulder in a reassuring hold.

“I’ll go back,” he said before darting out of the room, yelling over his shoulder as he raced out the front door. “Fletcher, Blayden, protect everyone here!”

“Got it!” Fletcher called in response.

“Miach, check his pulse and blood pressure,” Isiah commanded over the sound of opening draws and metal things being dropped into metal dishes.

“Hm,” Miach murmured, seemingly dreamily, but he quickly set about checking Ciaran’s other arm, the one that wasn’t injured, spending a few moments silently holding his fingers to the inside of his elbow and then his wrist. “90 over 60 and 114 beats per minute.”

Isiah made a noise signalling that he was displeased. “I’m going to have to cut off the sleeve, Ciaran.”

Ciaran swallowed thickly. “As long as it’s just the sleeve, it’s fine,” he muttered as he glanced over at the door way to the room for something to look at rather than the medical equipment and watched as Blayden try to pop his head into the room, only for Nitish to abruptly appear and shoo him away with a quiet order to watch over Baldur.

Looking over to him, an expression of shock appeared on Nitish’s face. “Oh, Ciaran?” he muttered, sounding pained.

“Nitish, Medica.”

Nitish nodded his head. “Yes, right away,” he said before quickly leaving the room again.

Roxbury pulled a chair over to the left side of the bed and grabbed his hand to remove his glove and to clean up the blood, prompting Ciaran to focus his attention on him and not of the hurried medical procedure around him. “Can you tell me what happened exactly?”

“It all happened so quick,” Ciaran said with a slight shake of his head as Nitish hurried back into the room, his arms full of bottles. “I just stepped out of my office to find an imperial standing there with two more standing in front of Duscha. I-I told them to leave Duscha alone, so they attacked me instead.”

“Top of his arm to his elbow. Straight cut, no tearing,” Isiah was heard murmuring. “Shoulder unaffected.”

“Bone?” Miach questioned.

“Yeah. No bone damage.”

“Hm. I’ll get everything ready.”

Ciaran winced and despite not wanting to see what kind of damaged he had sustained, he found his head lolling to the right to look away.

“You don’t need to look,” Mahalah said as he placed his hand over his eyes abruptly and rolled his head away, back toward Roxbury before removing his hand and readjusting his grip on his right arm.

“What else happened?” Roxbury asked as he grasped Ciaran’s hand in his, offering him some comfort.

“Xander appeared and told me to run,” Ciaran continued as he tightened his hand around Roxbury’s when he felt a sharp pain resonate from his arm. “And I did. That’s all that happened.”

Ciaran squeezed his eyes shut when more pain appeared. Sharp, piercing pain. Nothing like when he first received the injury. He was fairly certain that he was hurting Roxbury’s hand as well, but the fortress said nothing and continued to silently hold his hand.

“Almost done, Ciaran,” Isiah said after a few torturous moments. “It shouldn’t hurt anymore.”

Ciaran breathed a sigh of relief when the pain did slowly stop and he opened his eyes, uttering a small apology to Roxbury for squeezing his hand. He felt exhausted all of a sudden. Pain…really knocked the wind out of you, didn’t it?

“It’s pretty deep, but thankfully it’s a clean cut,” Isiah said as he began to wrap something tight around his arm, muttering a few refresh under his breath as he did so. “It shouldn’t leave much of a scar, but it is going to hurt for a while.”

Finally, Ciaran allowed himself to turn and look. What he saw were thick white bandages that were clean and pristine. Started from the top of his arm to his elbow. “Thanks, Isiah,” Ciaran sighed as Isiah allowed him to cradle his arm against his side. “Thank gods for yeh guys…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t sense anything sooner,” Nitish said with a small frown on his lips.

“Let’s get you into the seating area,” Isiah suddenly commanded. “You’ll be more comfortable there.”

With a grunt, Ciaran sat up on the bed, pausing for a moment when the room started to spin before allowing Roxbury to help him off the bed. He held onto his uninjured arm as he guided him out of the room and into the seating area.

Just as Ciaran sat down on the couch, the front door opened and Achyuta stepped inside, his face uncharacteristically strained, his driveblade gripped tightly in his hand. “How’s Ciaran?” he immediately asked.

“He’s fine,” Nitish answered as he quickly made his way over to Achyuta, looking at him in a softly concerned way. “What happened?”

“We’ve fended them off for now,” Achyuta answered with a tight smile.

“Real Imperials?”

“Indeed.”

“Xander, get inside now,” Logre suddenly barked from just outside of the front door. “That’s an order.”

“Sir Logre, I am fine.”

Ciaran perked up a little when he heard the voice. An intense feeling of relief washed over him as Logre all but dragged Xander into the building, the other Imperial looking haggard and rather irritated. There were dints in his armour and he appeared somewhat winded.

However, he was awake and kicking. That was such a relief.

Logre sent Xander a terse stare before turning his attention toward their head medic. “Isiah?”

Isiah gave Xander the once over, his brow furrowing significantly. “A bit of background?” he suddenly asked.

“Held off three Imperials before our arrival,” Logre explained as Xander fidgeted nervously. “Mostly defensive injuries, it appears.”

“Right,” Isiah muttered as he turned to give Xander his full attention. “You, into the treatment room. Now.”

“I fail to see the need,” Xander unexpectedly spoke back, seemingly unaware of who he was talking to. “I must return to the wharf.”

The grip Logre had on his shoulder wouldn’t be budged. “Bryce, Varuna and Falkner are securing the area now. And Biast is surveying the area around the clinic. Your injuries need attending to.”

Xander remained obliviously stubborn. “I must decline.”

Isiah twitched and everyone grew silent. Under his breath, Isiah tisked before surprisingly turning on his heel and walking into his office. He returned quickly, in his hand a certain, shiny mace.

Er…was he really going to…?

“Isiah, wait-”

Yeah, he was. With a quick flick of his wrist, Isiah clobbered Xander upside the head with his mace. Xander didn’t even utter a sound before he hit the floor with a loud thud. And remained there, completely motionless.

Ciaran stared down at Xander, completely stunned while the other members of guild Phaedron shuffled about awkwardly.

“Sleep drop?” Logre sighed aloud. “Really necessary?”

“You two get him into a bed,” Isiah commanded Logre and Achyuta, completely ignoring Logre’s previous comment. “And out of that god forsaken armour.”

“Y-yes,” Achyuta stuttered meekly as he rested his driveblade against the back of the couch before promptly doing what he was told.

Logre sighed as he lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where am I dumping him?”

“Put him in the treatment room for now,” Isiah answered with an idle wave of his hand, resting his mace on his shoulder casually.

As Logre and Achyuta somehow manhandled the unconscious Xander into the patient room, more figures appeared in the doorway. The relief upon seeing them also unharmed was immense.

“Varuna?” Nitish questioned before sighing with relief. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Varuna answered as he trailed his fingertips over the hilts of his blades. “Those Imperials offered a token fight when he arrived, but fled soon afterwards.”

Bryce muttered something incoherent under his breath as he folded his arms over his chest in an irritated fashion. “We couldn’t see much damage to Duscha, but it was dark, so we couldn’t do a proper inspection.”

“I’ll do that first thing in the morning,” Ciaran murmured as he sunk back into the couch, letting his head flop back onto the cushions.

Damaged but not destroyed? Good. He could handle that.

“I don't know what the hell is really going on, but you're sleeping here tonight, Ciaran,” Isiah unexpected stated. “No argument.”

Honestly, Ciaran didn’t have the strength to argue right now. “Ah, right.”

“You can have my bed,” Varuna offered as he slipped off his blades from his person and propped them against the couch that was closest to the front door. “I’d probably be up all night feeling antsy anyway.”

“Yeh sure?”

“I’ve pulled multiple all-nighters,” Varuna said dismissively as he quickly made his way over to Ciaran, helping off the couch and guiding him toward the stairs. “It’s fine. Let’s get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes first, though.”

Ciaran smiled softly, grateful to be associated with such a kind guild. “Thanks, Varuna.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biggest thanks to GrayToneSkies for commenting on the previous chapter! Let's just say that this chapter is the lead up to the fun and excitement :3

Despite the terrible circumstances that brought him to the Researchers’ Clinic in the first place, Ciaran had the best night sleep he has had in a long time. It must be due to the fact that he was surrounded by the protective and powerful members of the Phaedron Guild. That, or Isiah gave him a relaxing agent to help him destress and to cope with the pain in his injured arm.

Probably both.

“Morning, Ciaran,” Isiah greeted when Ciaran walked down stairs and toward the kitchen area, gingerly touching his slightly throbbing arm as he did so.

“Hey Isiah,” Ciaran returned the greeting, noting with a mild sense of surprise that Baldur was sitting at the kitchen table with Isiah close by, a cup of tea in front of him and a somewhat annoyed expression on his face as he flipped through a book.

No doubt that he had heard that Ciaran was attacked at the wharf last night by Imperials and was less then pleased by the entire thing. The once sullen and aloof prince had certainly calmed down during the last few days. He hadn’t been trying to escape like he had done numerous times before. He wasn’t scoffing at Isiah and was willingly spending time with the guild.

But that was what Guild Phaedron did. They made people feel safe around them. One couldn’t help but be drawn to them.

“Pain?” Isiah suddenly questioned, indicting with a tilt of his head toward Ciaran’s right arm, of which he was subconsciously cradling against his side.

Ciaran took a moment to try to find the right words to describe the sensation in his arm. “More like a slight ache.”

“Drink this,” Isiah instructed as he plucked up a blue medica bottle from the kitchen counter and tossed it to him. “It’ll stop the discomfort.”

The bottle hit him square in the chest, so it was easy for him to catch, even with an injured arm. “Thanks.”

He quickly opened the bottle and began to sip the liquid slowly, looking around the room as he did so. He immediately noticed that few of the guild were occupying the seating area, sleeping as restfully as they could.

Varuna and Bryce were on one of the couches together, Bryce with an arm hanging over the back of the couch while the other was wrapped securely around Varuna, whom was sleeping curled up next to him, his head resting on his chest.

Falkner and Miach occupied the other couch, Falkner at one end with his arms folded over his chest, his head back and his feet propped up on the coffee table. Miach was curled up at the other end, hanging over the arm of the couch, his legs curled up underneath him. How he could be comfortable, let alone sleep like that, Ciaran would never know.

There were a few blankets tossed around, so it was obvious that everyone from the guild decided their best course of action was to stick together for the night. They had probably took turns keeping watch.

Ciaran then glanced over toward the patient room to see the door slightly ajar. If Xander was still inside then that meant he was hurt worse than previously thought, right?

“How’s the patient?” he asked as he turned his attention to Isiah, slightly nervous to hear his answer.

“Still sleeping,” Isiah replied with a smirk on his lips, completely and utterly unconcerned. “You can check on him if you like.”

Ciaran thought that suggestion over for a moment as he finished the rest of his medica. He was curious (yes, alright, _worried)_ about the strange and aloof Imperial. He did protect him and the wharf last night, after all. But…he wasn’t exactly in the mood for another scolding from him. Still…

“…Got nothing better to do,” Ciaran murmured as he placed the empty medica bottle down upon the kitchen table and quietly made his way toward the patient room, being extra careful not to awaken those slumbering in the seating area.

Reaching the patient room, Ciaran slowly opened the door and peeked inside. There, lying on the bed on his back was Xander. His head was slightly tilted to the side, one arm folded over his stomach, the other lying at his side. There were a few visible bandages, but they were small, patching up scrapes and bruises more than anything.

Stepping into the room, Ciaran had to admit that he was surprised. Xander sure looked different without the intimidating Imperial armour. He was quite muscular, more than he had thought. Maybe more than Logre and Achyuta.

Ciaran was pulled from his musings when Xander unexpectedly twitched, his brow furrowing. He must be waking up.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” Ciaran said as he fearlessly poked the dark-skinned imperial on the cheek, causing his brow to furrow further.

A second or two later, Xander’s snapped open and he half sat up, glancing at his surroundings in a somewhat bewildered manner. “I fell asleep?” he muttered, more to himself.

Ciaran was more than happy to explain what had happened. “Not by choice. Isiah smacked yeh with his mace when yeh wouldn’t comply with his orders.”

Xander dragged a hand over his face, either irritated or embarrassed. “…I hadn’t anticipated that.”

No one ever did. “He’s pretty good at it.”

“You have no other injuries?” Xander suddenly inquired, startling Ciaran somewhat as he swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the floor.

“Eh? Er, no,” Ciaran replied as he glanced over at his right arm, the thick white bandages clearly visible underneath the sleeve of his borrowed shirt. “Isiah healed that last night. Shouldn’t leave a scar.”

“It was a warning strike,” Xander stated as he shifted and he pushed himself to his feet, standing up tall as he peered at him, almost in a scolding manner, from the corner of his eye. “You wouldn’t have an arm if they meant it.”

“O-oh?” Ciaran murmured as he held his arm a little tighter. That thought was…scary.

If they were that dangerous, though…

“Why did yeh protect me?” Ciaran found himself asking softly before he had the chance to reconsider.

“I was merely acting on impulse,” Xander answered rather harshly, almost hastily, as he turned his back to him and began to roll and flex his shoulders and back, easing out the tense muscles. “Don't let it go to your head.”

“Right…” Ciaran should have expected as much. He couldn’t help but feel a small sense of disappointment, though. While it was somewhat obvious that the man didn’t hate him, he certainly didn’t like him either.

It was like…he was nothing more than a pest to him. A stray that constantly needed saving.

“Ciaran, there you are.”

“Hey Logre,” Ciaran greeted, a sense of relief in his voice and expression as he turned to face the former wanderer.

“How’s the arm?” Logre immediately asked, his face unusually serious as he gave him the once over with his eyes.

“Ah, it’s fine,” Ciaran automatically replied, even if his left hand moved up on its own to gingerly touch his upper right arm again. “Really.”

Logre wasn’t totally convinced, but was satisfied enough with the knowledge that Ciaran could still use and move his arm, and wasn’t in enormous pain. He then turned his attention to Xander, whom of which seemed to be busying himself with the sorting out of his armour.

“Ah, Xander, you’re awake,” Logre commented as he stepped further into the room, Ciaran deciding to linger in the doorway to eavesdrop, as it were. He had no shame in admitting it.

“Sir Logre,” Xander returned, immediately standing to attention.

“You did well last night,” Logre complimented, sounding much like the superior he was regarded as by many. “Count, along with many others, send you their gratitude for protecting Ciaran.”

Ciaran couldn’t help but wince. The Count was aware of what was going on? He couldn’t imagine how worried he must have been about the whole thing. Ever since his father died in an airship crash all those years ago, he had been particularly protective and reassuring toward him.

“I did what I was trained to do,” Xander stated stoically.

“They are thankful nonetheless,” Logre insisted before unexpectedly squaring his shoulders and giving Xander a very pointed look. “Do you know who attacked?”

“They wore full armour, including helmets,” Xander explained. “I cannot be certain.”

“Was it Neolani?”

Xander pressed his lips together into a thin line, looking rather grim. “Whether in person or by order…more likely than not.”

Logre looked equally grim as he breathed out a slow breath. “I see.”

“Neolani?” Ciaran murmured under his breath, having heard that name mentioned with intense hatred somewhere before. “Isn’t that-?”

“Don’t say that name around Varuna,” Logre abruptly cut him off as he quickly turned to face him before glancing over his shoulder to the seating area. “At least, not for now.”

“Sure,” Ciaran murmured in response as he, too, glanced over toward the couch Varuna was seen earlier. Thankfully, he was still sleeping, curled up next to Bryce.

If Neolani was the person he was thinking of, then it would be best for now not to tell Varuna indeed. He might do something he would later regret simply out of the hatred he held for her. Not that anyone could blame him, of course. After the stunts she pulled. So not telling Varuna about her was more for his sake then hers.

He wasn’t able to continue with that thought as the bustle of the guild waking up and looking for breakfast pulled him back toward the kitchen area where he joined them. After a slight jostling of where to sit and who wanted to eat what, everyone settled down, the atmosphere unfairly tense as they mused silently amongst themselves the true reason of why the wharf, and ultimately Ciaran himself, was attacked.

“Why go after a pair of airships?” Baldur suddenly asked over the bustle of breakfast, appearing as if he had been mulling over that question for a while.

“Other than being incredibly useful for travelling through the four lands, Duscha and Espiritu have become the beacons of exploration for Tharsis,” Ciaran explained readily. “They’re also considered to be symbols of hope and adventure. And they contain remnants of the Black Flame. If they were destroyed…” he trailed off, unable to find the right words after that.

Baldur didn’t look all that convinced. In fact, he appeared somewhat confused. But he nodded his head nonetheless. “I see…”

Reaching over to pick up a piece of white apple, Ciaran popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He couldn’t hide out at the clinic all day. He needed to get out there, back to his wharf. He needed to do _something._

“I need to move Duscha and Espiritu to a safer location,” Ciaran stated as he took to his feet, subconsciously pulling his right arm close to his side.

“I’ll go with you to check out any damage,” Falkner offered as he jumped readily to his feet.

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Roxbury said, nodding his head slightly in acceptance. “I’ll head over and give you a hand after I speak with the Count. He would like my opinion on a few things, but I shouldn’t be there long.”

Ciaran smiled softly at the fortress, mildly noting the looks of slight, silent disapproval from both Isiah and Mahalah. “Appreciate it.”

“Xander,” Logre unexpectedly commanded as he turned to look at the other man, whom of which was back in his imperial amour. “Stay with Ciaran.”

“Understood,” Xander immediately replied, like the good soldier he was.

Isiah glanced over at Xander with a slightly disapproving expression on his face also, but he surprisingly said nothing, turning his attention to the whole of the guild. “I think it’s best if we stay in one place for now. Especially at night. I know the clinic can be a little bit cramped, but-”

“Yes, I agree,” Roxbury interrupted, immediately knowing what Isiah was referring to. “If they blatantly attacked the wharf, they could attack anyone and anywhere.”

That was a very real possibility. Wait…what about Kirjonen and Wiglaf? They aided the guild as a distraction when they needed to by-pass all the imperial ships to get to the Echoing Library to rescue Nitish and the Medium. Would they be targets as well?

“I’d like to inform Kirjonen and Wiglaf about what’s been happening as well,” Roxbury added, as if somehow prompted by Ciaran’s own thoughts.

“You’re still recovering from your injuries,” Mahalah said, focusing directly on Roxbury with a slight frown on his lips. “I want you to stay here especially.”

“Alright,” Roxbury said in response to Mahalah’s concerns, granting him a complying smile, seemingly accepting his worries before turning his attention back to his guild. “During the day it should be fine to walk around town, though. They’re not that daring yet as they are unwilling to reveal themselves by keeping their helmets on during all altercations. And last night wasn’t a complete success, so their next attempt might not be for a few days. If we’re lucky.”

That was true. Sure, there had been a few scuffles, mostly verbal, around the city during the day, but no damages or injuries had ever been reported. What happened last night, however, might be a sign in a possible escalation of trouble and mayhem.

“Staying put and waiting is our best course of action for the time being, unfortunately,” Logre said as he folded his arms across his chest, an expression of serious thoughtfulness on his face. “Unlike with the Titan, we haven’t the faintest idea of what they’re really trying to do.”

Ciaran felt completely out of his depth as the guild fell into an intense, focused silence. It was like they were preparing for a battle, something he had absolute no experience with. He was just the simple wharf-master, nothing more.

“If nothing else, it’s a good excuse to clean out the top floor,” Varuna suddenly commented as he ran a hand through his long hair, pushing it away from his face.

Situated next to him, Bryce perked up a little as he furrowed his brow. “Come to think of it, we’ve never been to the third floor.”

“That’s because it’s mostly storage,” Varuna replied with a slight smile. “We don’t go up there often either. There’s a tonne of crap up there. More so now than before.”

Bryce nodded his head idly before hauling himself to his feet. “Better get to work then,” he muttered, seemingly impatient to do something with his time.

“Yeah,” Varuna said as he, too, stood up.

“I think we can afford to throw some things out,” Nitish suggested.

“I’ll leave that distinction up to you, Nitish,” Varuna returned. “You know what’s useful and what’s not.”

Nitish smiled softly and nodded his head in acceptance, his blond hair falling over his shoulders. “Very well.”

“We’ll head out now,” Falkner said as he ushered Ciaran toward the front door.

“Head straight back to the clinic if anything happens, clear?” Isiah commanded.

“Will do!”

Hastily making their way through the streets of Tharsis, Ciaran was thankful to see that the wharf had been sectioned off from the general public by a squadron of Tharsis guards. He really didn’t need rookie guilds sticking their noses in where they didn’t belong. He just hoped that the soldiers didn’t get caught in the crosshairs of the rouge Imperials.

By-passing the barricades and stepping inside, Ciaran couldn’t stop himself from wincing. The structure of the wharf had been damaged in several locations. Gouges in the flooring, and chairs and tables sliced cleanly into pieces. He was pretty sure that there was a couple of the knives that Varuna wielded imbedded in the ceiling, high above them. There was also strong evidence of scorched marks, mostly radiating from his office. Ciaran was fairly certain he knew where that came from and he was grateful. At least his office wasn’t ransacked as well.

The ol’ wharf endured quite a battle, it seemed.

Never mind that for now. He needed to check on his airships.

Falkner immediately raced over to Duscha and swung his way on board. That airship, after all, was the focus of last night’s attack. He quickly checked to see if the steering had been compromised, which thankfully hadn’t, before turning his attention to the rigging on board.

While he did that, Ciaran inspected the outer shell of the airship. There were a few scorched marks against the hull, but no physical damage. It seemed that someone had tried to use flame drive, only to have it blocked in some manner.

“All’s good on board,” Falkner reaffirmed as he leaned over the gondola. “What’s it like out there?”

“Minor damage. Nothing that can’t be fixed in an hour or two,” Ciaran reported with intense relief before turning his attention to the sister airship. “What about Espiritu?”

A few moments of tense silence stretched out as the two of them did a quick inspection of Espiritu. Thankfully, the ol’ girl seemed to have missed the brunt of the attack.

“Looks all right from here,” Falkner said as he restated himself upon the Duscha, his baby as he often called it.

Ciaran felt his shoulders sag with relief and he clutched his right arm tighter against his side. “Thank god, the airships are safe.”

“You better move them quickly,” Xander suddenly instructed, abruptly reminding Ciaran that he had been standing on guard the entire time.

“Right…Where to…?” Ciaran murmured, mentally searching through the possible locations. He soon perked up, hitting his fist in the palm of his hand in a ‘eureka’ type moment. “Right, there.”

“Where?”

“Since the invention of airships, Tharsis doesn’t rely on road travel much anymore,” Ciaran explained with a grin. “Which means the loading docks that were for road use have been turned into storage areas. With a few slight modifications, I’m sure we can turn them into a secure area for our airships.”

The grin on Falkner’s lips gave the indication that he agreed with his idea. “Heh, good thinking.”

“We’ll move them both at once,” Ciaran continued. “I’ll take Espiritu, yeh take Duscha.”

“Of course,” Falkner immediately responded, effortlessly getting ready to get Duscha airborne.

Ciaran then turned to the silent Imperial. “Xander, I want yeh to gather some rigging and other supplies for me,” he instructed. “As I said, a few modifications might be needed.”

Surprisingly, Xander nodded his head. “Understood.”

Finally. Time to get to work.

… … … … …

Stepping through the front door and onto the top step leading to the clinic, Roxbury paused and turned, giving the purple-haired dancer standing on the door’s threshold a reassuring look.

“Yes, I promise,” he said. “As soon as I am done speaking with the Count, I will return here first before heading to the wharf.”

Mahalah folded his arms across his chest, giving him a pointed look. “You’re still injured. Don’t go pulling any heroic stunts. I won’t hesitate to send Isiah after you if you don’t return here first,” he threatened lightly, yet the undertone was dead serious.

That threat was both amusing and frightening.

“Someone should go with you,” Mahalah continued with his fussing.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Roxbury insisted as he shook his head. “You’re needed here to help and I want everyone to be on guard in case something else happens in the city. I’m not a target, Mahalah. They have no reason to waste their time over me.”

Mahalah gave him a sceptical, disbelieving look, even going as far as arching an eyebrow at him. However, after a moment of quiet, he sighed and dropped his shoulders slightly. “Don’t go charging into any unnecessary danger,” he reiterated.

“I’ll be good,” he promised, giving Mahalah another reassuring smile before hurrying down the stairs and onto the streets, heading directly toward the Grand Mark’s Court. The warming sun offered some relief as the rogue Imperials hadn’t done anything destructive or dangerous in the middle of town in board daylight.

Well…not yet, at least.

As he walked the streets, staying within the masses for the sense of security, Roxbury could feel the confusion and fear of the locals and explorers alike as they bustled around him. What happened at the wharf was so blatant. No one could deny that a group of Imperials were causing trouble anymore.

It has also been made abundantly clear that all the damaged airships that had plagued Ciaran for weeks before were not accidents. They were acts of sabotage. By the same group of terrorists. Or, as the council were still referring them as; Extremists.

What could they possibly be trying to achieve? Was the revival of the Sand Leviathan by their hands just a stunt or was it something else entirely? What else could they be planning? He couldn’t help but feel that Baldur was their target, even though he was their prince. That stunt with the Sand Leviathan…they may not have known that Baldur would with them as a guess of their party, but they ran through them as they fled when they were together as a group. How could they have not seen him?

Roxbury was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when he felt a presence appear suddenly behind him. Right behind him, well within his personal space. But before he could turn and assess who was it was, a metal encased hand clasped over his mouth as another wrapped across his torso, pinning his arms to his sides.

“Hmpf!” he murmured in surprise when he felt himself being dragged backwards, toward an alleyway. The person that was holding him captive was frighteningly strong. And an Imperial. He could tell by the coldness and hardness of their armour.

“You let your guard down,” an unexpected, but still exasperatingly familiar voice taunted.

Zesiro? What the hell was he playing at now?

After a moment of struggle, Roxbury managed to free his mouth from the hand that was clasped over it and drew in a sharp intake of air. “What do you want?” he demanded, feeling vulnerable due to the fact that he couldn’t pry his arms free and his lingering injuries from his battle against the Sand Leviathan were still a hindrance.

“Hm?” Zesiro hummed egotistically in response, his hand resting idly against Roxbury’s throat, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. His lips seemed to be right next to his ear, his heated breath ghosting against his face and neck, causing Roxbury to unwillingly shiver from the feeling. “I'm simply here to present to you your exclusive invitation to join the New Empire.”

_“New_ Empire?” Roxbury questioned. He didn’t like the sound of that…

“You have a choice,” Zesiro suddenly said as he grasped Roxbury’s chin in his hand and turned his face to the right, where a strange man with gaunt features and dressed in nightseeker clothing could be seen peering in from behind a wall. “Either surrender to me now or another will go after your guild. What will it be?”

Roxbury felt his heart skip a beat and glared at the other man, realising that he was the one Zesiro was referring to. “The answer to that is simple,” he snapped back.

“Yes, I thought so,” Zesiro replied as he suddenly let go of his chin and seemed to reach around for something.

“What-?” Roxbury managed to mutter before something was placed over his mouth and nose. A cloth of some kind. With a particular smell…that was making him…feel….dizzy…

Shit…it was…sleeping gas…

He heard Zesiro murmur something along the lines of; “Everything will be fine,” before everything went completely black.

… … … … …

Mahalah had been so pre-occupied with the cleaning of the third floor, arranging for some hasty bedrooms, keeping Blayden and Fletcher from getting too nosy with the researchers’ private belongings and making sure that Miach didn’t accidentally topple out of an open window that he totally lost track of time. It wasn’t until they decided to take a break that he realised, with some alarm, that a few hours have passed and Roxbury hadn’t returned.

Did he go straight to the wharf after all? Or was he still speaking with the Count? Surely, it wouldn’t take him this long, would it?

He was probably overly cautious. After all, he had been on the third floor, helping in the clearing up of the storage rooms to allow for everyone to stay at the clinic in a more comfortable setting. Perhaps he simply missed him? Yeah, that had to be the case. Isiah would have gone hunting himself, right? If there was anything wrong with Roxbury.

Still…he was worried.

“Has anyone seen Roxbury?” Mahalah asked those who had gathered in the seating are for a break.

“Hm?” Bryce murmured as he looked up before pausing, his brow furrowing in thought. “Can’t say that we have.”

“I’m sure he went to check on Ciaran and the wharf,” Blayden said, trying to sound helpful and reassuring. “He probably got stuck there looking after the rookies or something.”

Mahalah couldn’t help but frown as he turned his attention to the red-headed sniper. “Falkner?”

Falkner was eerily silent for a moment. “…Sorry,” he suddenly said with a deep frown of his own. “I haven’t seen him.”

Mahalah really didn’t like the sound of that. “I’m feeling somewhat…unsettled,” he murmured under his breath.

“You should ask Nitish or Biast,” Blayden suggested helpfully.

“Yes, you’re right,” Mahalah murmured, unable to push aside that niggling feeling of fear and doubt as he headed to the upper floors. “I’ll do that.”

“Mahalah.”

Upon reaching the top step, Mahalah was startled to see Nitish hurrying over to him, an expression of great distress on his face.

“What’s the matter, Nitish?” Mahalah asked as he instinctively lifted his hands toward the talented runemaster, allowing him to grasp onto him desperately. His frown deepened when he realised that Nitish was trembling slightly.

“Something’s terribly wrong,” Nitish said, sounding as upset as he looked. “I can’t…I can’t sense Roxbury anywhere in the city.”

Mahalah drew in a sharp intake of air. “H-he’s not?”

Nitish shook his head desperately. “Something’s happening. A heavy cloud has descended over Tharsis. I didn’t…I didn’t sense it earlier b-because of the items, upstairs. Their stagnant energies confused me…”

“There’s no way Roxbury would have left without telling someone,” Mahalah said, more to himself. However, an unsettling feeling soon washed over him, making him sick to his stomach.

No, Roxbury wouldn’t leave Tharsis on his own. That wasn’t his nature at all. He knew everyone would wonder and worry where he was. So that meant…he didn’t leave willingly?

Before Mahalah could continue down that terrifying thought path, he was startled by Varuna’s sudden appearance, skidding hastily out of his room and racing toward the stairs with a seriously focused expression on his face.

“What the fuck is that thing?” he was heard muttering to himself as he leapt over the top railing of the stairs and disappeared from sight.

Mahalah immediately turned to look at Nitish, only to find the blond looking pale and somewhat dazed.

…Oh god, what was happening now?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much GrayToneSkies once again for commenting~ Oh, what a fun filled chapter this is. Enjoy!

After ensuring that the airships of Duscha and Espiritu were safe in their new docking location, Ciaran returned to his wharf while Falkner headed back to the clinic for a quick debriefing, as he called it.

The first place Ciaran visited was his office. Popping his head inside, he was grateful to see that at least that place was physically unharmed. Seemingly the only place that wasn’t. The Black Flame, however, didn’t look all that happy. It was almost bristling in its lantern.

After what he had witnessed from the flame before, he was fairly certain that it was a warning of some kind. Something else was going to happen.

“Should I move Kirjonen and Wiglaf’s airships as well?” Ciaran questioned as he turned toward Xander, who had dutifully followed him just about everywhere since Logre’s order.

Xander shook his head. “That would be too suspicious.”

It would probably be difficult, too, trying to keep four airships in one place.

“I guess yeh right,” Ciaran murmured as he chewed on his bottom lip, still highly on edge. Why wouldn’t he be? He was just the wharf-master for crying out loud! These types of things weren’t supposed to happen to someone like him.

Glancing around nervously, Ciaran quickly remembered that he was supposed to get another protective visitor, one who promised to check up on him after speaking with the Count. Not seeing said brown-haired fortress around was even more alarming. Sure, he was injured and all. But still…

“Where could Roxbury be?” Ciaran questioned aloud, his concern going up a notch as the fortress never, ever went back on his word. “I figure he would be here by now.”

Xander, too, seemed rather surprised that Roxbury hadn’t shown up at all. Not even briefly. “Maybe his previous injuries are delaying him?” he offered.

Ciaran couldn’t help but wince. “…Yeah. He was pretty banged up, huh?”

But before Ciaran could muse anymore about it, Xander reacted negatively to something. He unsheathed his driveblade and spun around, purposely placing himself directly in front of Ciaran. Startled, Ciaran found himself unconsciously grasping at his right arm and moving a fraction closer to Xander.

“Well, well, isn’t it Xander?” a frighteningly familiar voice taunted.

Xander seemed to growl lowly in his throat. “Neolani.”

Peering out from behind Xander, Ciaran was somewhat surprised to see that Neolani was a young woman, probably no older than he was, with long blonde hair and flawless features. He wasn’t expecting the infamous Neolani, the one to cause both Nitish and Achyuta so much pain, to be so young.

However, her eyes were deathly cold, her lips twisted into a smirk that was filled with superiority. He could easily tell that she wasn’t a nice person. Not even hidden underneath.

“You’ve become quite the hero, haven’t you?” Neolani continued, almost mockingly as several more armour clad Imperials stood at attention behind her.

“And you’ve become quite the terrorist,” Xander retorted back harshly.

Neolani’s expression noticeably darkened, but the smirk remained. “I prefer to think freedom fighter.”

Xander seemed unable to stop himself from scoffing at that. “You would,” he all but sneered.

“What’s going on?” Ciaran asked softly, not having the faintest idea what in the world was happening.

“Stay behind me,” Xander simply told him, keeping his driveblade in a defensive position and refusing to take his gaze off of the woman in front of him.

“Get on that airship,” Neolani suddenly commanded as she used her own driveblade to point out an airship. “Now.”

Instinctively, Ciaran glanced over his shoulder to see what ship she was talking about. He didn’t immediately recognise it, so thankfully it wasn’t one of the important ones, as he called them. He didn’t know who owned this particular airship, and regarding the circumstances, it didn’t matter.

“Think you can take us all on while protecting that weakling behind you?” Neolani sneered, causing Ciaran to turn his focus back to the Imperial that was protecting him.

Xander said nothing as he tightened his grip on his driveblade, the metal gauntlet he wore creaking under the pressure. He, however, reluctantly took a couple of steps backwards, prompting Ciaran to do so as well.

“You’re just as pathetic as Achyuta,” she hissed venomously. “Get on that airship. Now!”

With absolutely no say in the matter, Ciaran reluctantly scrambled onto the airship, immediately moving to the other side of the gondola. A split second later, Xander was standing in front of him once more.

Slipping on board was Neolani and another Imperial. She immediately sashayed her way toward Xander, promptly the male imperial to lift his driveblade with one hand while the other reached round to push Ciaran even further back.

“To the air,” Neolani suddenly instructed to the other Imperial.

“Where should I head?” the instructed Imperial asked as they carelessly manoeuvred the airship away from the docks and out toward the Windy Plains.

“Wherever’s the most difficult,” Neolani answered dismissively.

“Understood.”

Huddling behind Xander, reasonably fearing for his life, Ciaran noticed that there was another airship already in the air. An imperial warship. And it was following closely behind. What were they planning on doing? Where were they taking him? Taking them?

“What is the meaning of this?” Xander demanded. “He’s a simple wharf-master, hardly a threat to the empire.”

Neolani tutted lightly. “He’s also an expert pilot and on the airships themselves.”

W-wait…they were purposely targeting him?

“This…this is madness,” Xander hissed, sounding utterly furious.

“There’s method to this madness,” Neolani retorted arrogantly. “You’ll be thanking me once I restore the empire to its utmost glory.” Her expression sharply darkened. “Which it would have been if not for that disgusting guild.”

Could it be…that she was targeting him because he was the wharf-master and to punish the Phaedron guild?

“This is far enough,” Neolani said after a few silent minutes and waved her hand at the Imperial, indicting for them to step away from the steering column.

The moment the other stepped away, she lifted her driveblade and idly flicked a switch. A strange whirling noise was heard when she unexpectedly lifted it high over her head and…

“Shit,” Xander hissed as he suddenly spun around and grabbed at Ciaran, abruptly pulling him against his chest, seemingly shielding him. A mere second later there was a loud sound of a massive explosion close by. The airship immediately lurched to the side and started to rock and tremble.

Dislodged from Xander’s protective grip by the violently swaying of the airship, Ciaran glanced over to where the steering column should have been. He was utterly alarmed and frightened by what he saw. And he quickly realised that was where the explosion originated from.

Neolani had completely destroyed the steering mechanism. _Obliterated_ it. She also left a gaping hole in the flooring of the gondola and in the side of the airship. He could see the land below.

Such damage…it wasn’t going to make it back to Tharsis.

They weren’t going to make it back.

So…that was what they were trying to do! Why?!

“Have fun,” she snickered as she, along with her companion, grasp some of the rigging ropes and swung their way over to the Imperial ship that had been following.

Even as the airship lurched to the side, crumbling from the high damaged Neolani caused with her driveblade, Ciaran could see her smirking in sadistic triumphant as the Imperial airship raced past. And as one last cruel act, she reached out with her driveblade and slashed at the balloon holding the airship aloft.

The balloon immediately deflated and…they were plummeting!

“X-Xander,” Ciaran stuttered as he grasped at the ledge of the gondola, watching with a sense of surrealism as trees seemed to hurtle toward them. “We’re going to crash.”

“Damn it,” Xander cursed as he turned around and unexpected lunged toward him, pinning him to the floor of the gondola. “Get down.”

As Xander physically covered Ciaran with his body, there was a loud sound, close to that of an explosion. A sharp pain suddenly erupted from the back of his head and after that…everything went dark.

… … … … …

Falkner watched as Mahalah headed upstairs, an expression of worry visibly seen on his face. And he couldn’t help but feel concerned himself. He had been so busy checking on the airships, seeing that Ciaran was alright with Xander and keeping any eye out for the mysterious twins that he had momentarily forgotten that Roxbury was also out and about in the city.

He immediately felt a sense of guilt. Roxbury was never late. He would never purposely cause others to worry about him, despite his heroic tendencies to physically shield anyone and everyone on the battlefield.

Something must have happened. Something was keeping him away. But what?

No…who?

“Good day, everyone,” a familiar and polite voice unexpectedly greeted, pulling Falkner from his thoughts.

“Heya, Kirjonen!” Blayden immediately greeted as the blond-haired Holy Rune Knight stepped inside, moving to stand where a small group of the guild was lounging about in the seating area. “What’s with the flowers?”

‘They were given to me,” Kirjonen explained as he shifted a potted plant with a several blooming flowers from one hand to another, a light flush to his cheeks. “A little oddly, I must admit.”

Taking in the sight of Kirjonen, Falkner couldn’t help but let a frown appear on his lips. The blond wasn’t sporting a heathy flush. He looked uncomfortable and a little unsteady on his feet. “Are you all right?” he asked him. “You look unwell.”

“O-oh?” Kirjonen murmured in reply. “No, I’m…fine. It’s just a little hot today.”

…It wasn’t that hot.

However, before Kirjonen could explain further about the potted flowers, there was the distinct sound of someone running on the floor above. A mere moment later Varuna suddenly appeared, jumping over top of the wooden railing from the top step and landing on the floor, hard. He then abruptly leapt to his feet and made a swift beeline straight over to Kirjonen. Before anyone had the chance to register what had happened, Varuna snatched the potted plant from Kirjonen’s hands and harshly dumped it in a trash can that was near the front door, slamming the lid down hard with a loud clang.

He then spun around, an expression of blatant concern on his face as he stared at Kirjonen. "Did you smell that? Did you smell that plant?" he demanded, seemingly on the verge of panic.

Kirjonen, along with everyone else in the room, was completely flabbergasted by what had just occurred. Varuna was never the one to act so…panicky?

"W-well, yes," Kirjonen stuttered in reply, beads of sweat suddenly appearing from his temple. "I didn't have much of a choice, she pushed the flowers into my face and..."

Suddenly, Kirjonen trailed off, his eyes becoming unfocused and he started to gasp, as though he wasn't getting enough oxygen as he breathed. He lurched forward and began to cough into his hands, his body shuddering violently.

“Kirjonen?!”

As Kirjonen suddenly crumbled toward the floor, Varuna reached out to grab him, lowering the both of them to the floor, letting Kirjonen to rest across his lap. He rolled him slightly so that Kirjonen was facing up and he reached over, feeling his neck, searching for a pulse.

Kirjonen…didn’t look good, to put it lightly. His face was clearly flushed and beads of sweat were already forming. He had a fever. A dangerous one at that.

While Falkner was no medical expert, he knew what had happened.

That plant was poisonous.

But who would give it to him? And why?

“Isiah!” Varuna yelled out, his voice a little strained, appearing as if he was trying to hold back his panic.

The door to Isiah’s office slammed open and Isiah and Logre appeared, the two of them looking utterly surprised to see Kirjonen struggling to breathe in Varuna’s arms. Immediately, Logre rushed over and effortlessly scooped the blond into his arms and without a word of prompting, carried him to the patient room.

Immediately, the three researchers followed, all of them serious and grim.

“Wait out here,” Nitish said in a hurried manner to Logre, all but pushing him out the door, before closing it.

Everyone had a million and one different questions they wanted to ask and to be answered, but silence reigned for the moment. They knew that any question they would demand from the researchers would only irritated them and hamper the healing that Kirjonen clearly, desperately needed.

Kirjonen was in good hands. Falkner knew first-hand how efficient the three talented researchers were. They worked together effortlessly when Fletcher was poisoned all that time ago. They wouldn’t stop until they found a cure. He knew they wouldn’t.

A few moments later, Varuna and Nitish appeared from the patient’s room. But they hastily brushed past, not staying a word as Nitish headed upstairs. Varuna carefully approached the bin he threw the potted plant him and lifted the lid, placing a medicated cloth of his mouth and nose as he did so. Reaching in, he seemed to pluck off something, either a leaf or petal before promptly placing it into a specimen jar and screwing the lid on tightly. With that in hand, he, too, headed upstairs.

Startled, those who had gathered in the seating area shared a glance before Achyuta turned on his heel and also made his way to the upper floors.

Again, the guild was left in complete silence as they waited for news, anything, about what the hell was going on. After yet more tensely filled minutes ticked by, the door to patient’s room opened and Isiah stepped out.

He looked pissed and haggard, to put it lightly.

“He’s stable,” Isiah said. “For now, at least.”

“W-what do you mean?” Blayden was the one to meekly ask.

"This poison..." Isiah murmured as he dragged a hand over his face in a weary manner. "I’ve never encountered anything like it. It's something else entirely."

“There is a cure, right?” Blayden asked apprehensively.

“There isn’t a poison created by nature that doesn’t have a cure.”

Everyone jumped in surprise before they spun around to see Nitish descend the stairs, Varuna and Achyuta dutifully behind him, Achyuta carrying a large leather bound book and a few scrolls in his hands. In Nitish’s hands was his personal notebook, the one he used to write in whenever he was studying the energies of an item. Both he and Varuna looked slightly haggard, an expression of slight weariness and wariness on their faces.

“Although I do not know the name of this flower, but thanks to Varuna we have learnt from its energy field of its toxicity,” Nitish said.

“It’s attacking the immune system,” Varuna explained as he folded his arms over his chest, looking rather edgy. “I’m afraid that he’s only going to get sicker from here on. There is no way his body’s natural healing response will be able to rid itself of this poisoning.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone took some time to let this information sink in before Logre asked, “Have you figured out a cure?”

“Yes, however, we are in need of three items,” Nitish went on to explain. “We will need Valerian from Forgotten Capital. It should ease the stress and pain on his body. Some Myrciaria Fruit from Windy Archives, which should help his metabolic state. And lastly, a Waterlily Leaf from Echoing Library, which is needed to purify the body and increase spiritual nourishment.”

“The three items should work together rather easily,” Varuna murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “There should be no side-effects…”

“So we’re going to have to explore three locations?” Falkner asked, looking for validation.

“We’ve worked out the exact locations,” Achyuta momentarily took over explanations, moving forward to place several maps into a table, which everyone quickly gathered around. “Unfortunately, the cure is only as powerful as the items. And for the most potency, we will need to make the antidote immediately after gathering the items.”

“Not only that, but we will also need to administrate the antidote immediately after its creation as well,” Nitish added.

“…Shit, that means we’ll need to take Kirjonen on the airship, huh?” Bryce suddenly muttered, quickly realising what Nitish and Achyuta were alluding to.

The frown on Logre’s face stated that he didn’t like the sound of that. “Would he be able to survive such high altitudes? Not to mention the long flight and extreme weather changes?”

“He’s going to have to,” Isiah murmured.

“Periodical refreshes during the trip should offer him some ease,” Varuna added. Truly, they had thought over all their options thoroughly.

“Varuna and I have figured out a way to increase the length of time before the item starts to deteriorate,” Nitish said as he opened his notebook and revealed a page filled with his notes and detailed drawings. “It should add an extra twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes wasn’t very long, but considering how little time they had before, it had to be more than enough. They had to make this work somehow.

“We have no choice, we’ll need to split into three groups,” Mahalah stated as he leaned over the maps to study them. He then pointed at one of them, the Forgotten Capital. “This will be our meet up point. After we gather the ingredients needed, we have twenty minutes before the items start to lose their potency. Something we can’t let happen.”

There were certainly no arguments from anyone, simply muted nods of understanding and agreement.

“Falkner will get the airships ready,” Mahalah said as he pushed away from the table to regard everyone, taking on the leadership role in Roxbury’s still unexplained absence. “Hopefully Roxbury is simply held up somewhere…Everyone else, get ready for some impromptu exploration.”

“Right!”

Racing out of the clinic, Falkner felt a sense of dread settle in the pit of his stomach. That plant that had poisoned Kirjonen. He said something about someone giving it to him. He used a female pronoun. Whoever that person was knew of the toxicity of that plant. Why else would they all but shove it into his face, forcing him to take a smell?

He was also worried about Wiglaf. Had she been targeted? She had been busy helping out the Count the last few days, so wasn’t around the city that much. Hopefully she had missed the brunt of what had been happening.

Skidding around a corner, Falkner saw the subject of his thoughts speaking to an Imperial with pink-hair tied in pigtails and was relieved to see that she seemed to be unharmed. He didn’t know that female Imperial’s name, but he had seen her around the city. Unlike the others of her kin, though, she seemed harmless.

Still, he had to be cautious.

“Wiglaf, head to the clinic!” Falkner called out to her, barely pausing in his steps. “We’re going to need your help!”

“Eh?” Wiglaf uttered as she spun around, an expression of utter bewilderment and surprise on her face. “With what?”

“Just go!” Falkner prompted. “Mahalah will explain!”

Wisely, the dancer chose not to question him anymore. She simply spun on her heel and headed straight in the direction of the clinic, leaving the female Imperial standing all alone in the street.

As Falkner passed her, he briefly glanced at her and she, for her part, seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

He couldn’t stop. He had to keep going.

Roxbury…he had better be at the new hideout with the airships with Ciaran. He had better be.

“Ciaran? Roxbury?” Falkner called out as he looked into the eerily silent hanger. “Hey!”

But before Falkner could step further into the new docking station for their airships, something unexpectedly snared his wrist, gripping tightly as something else rested across his throat. He felt the air leave his lungs in a surprised gasp when something moved up behind him, twisting his arm so that his hand was behind his back, between his shoulder blades.

He was…being restrained? What the hell? He hadn’t sensed anyone around!

“No yelling,” a hauntingly familiar voice murmured into his ear. “We can’t afford any more attention.”

Falkner immediately gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing into a glare. “You…?” he muttered as he glanced over his shoulder, only to come near face to face with the blank expression of the nightseeker, Telem.

To think he could catch him so easily off guard…

“Don’t look betrayed, Sniper,” Telem said to him as he readjusted his hold on him, giving him the indication that struggling against him would be fruitless and pointless. “This is for the best.”

“In what way?” he asked slowly, scepticism clearly heard in his tone.

He was also feeling somewhat confused. Why was Telem even restraining him in the first place? What the living hell was even going on?

Telem gazed at him rather blankly, his eyes unblinking. “With their attention focused on your leader and the wharf-master, it’ll leave you and your guild time to prepare.”

A sense of horrified realisation made Falkner feel sick to the stomach. “…What happened to Roxbury and Ciaran?”

“All will be explained later. Firstly,” Telem murmured as he suddenly flicked out a knife, holding it a hair’s breathe from his face, Falkner immediately focusing in on it. “I need to ensure I don’t get attacked.”

Falkner was completely helpless as he was dragged back toward the clinic.

… … … … …

Baldur stood silently in the background as the members of the Phaedron guild rushed about the residence in preparation for an emergency trip into the Cloudy Stronghold. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. He only received a few of the details and no one was really bothering to pause to tell him.

He knew enough, though. A friend of the guild was sick and needed emergency treatment. And that they had to do so in the Cloudy Stronghold.

Slipping into the patient’s room, Baldur found Isiah at the bedside of the blond-haired Holy Rune Knight, Kirjonen. The young man was unconscious on the bed, his face creased into a look of discomfort and pain. He was breathing rather harshly through parted lips; his face flushed a painful shade as sweat glistened across his brow.

It was obvious that he was ill.

Very, very ill.

Still…

“Why would Logre waste his time on this one person?” Baldur found himself asking as he glanced down at the blond, his brow furrowing. “Is he a man of some importance?”

“Everyone is important to somebody,” Isiah replied as he picked up a moistened cloth and gently placed it across Kirjonen’s brow.

Baldur blinked, feeling confused. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Tell me,” Isiah unexpectedly commanded as he turned to face him with a somewhat stoic expression. “Have you ever been close to anyone?”

For a brief moment, Baldur found himself thinking of an elderly woman. Someone he used to call Grammy when he was a mere child. He, however, quickly shook his head to rid himself of that dead memory.

“I do what any prince would do,” he stated in response to Isiah’s question. “I rule over my people and my land.”

“So that’s a no then?” Isiah stated more than questioned, arching an infuriating eyebrow at him. “Everything you do is for your people, your empire? Have you not done something, however small, for someone else and expect nothing in return?”

“I have no time for charity,” Baldur said as he frowned deeply.

Isiah sighed loudly. “You have so much to learn.”

Baldur felt himself bristle slightly. “And what does that mean?”

“You’re still so defensive,” Isiah said as he reached forward and placed his hand on top of Baldur’s head. “Learn to relax a little, would you? It’s preventing you from enjoying life. Logre is helping Kirjonen for the same reason I’m helping you. Because he wants to.”

Baldur stilled. “…Wants to?” he repeated quietly in surprise.

“You might as well lower your guard with me and stop being so defensive,” Isiah continued as he removed his hand from Baldur’s hair. “I’m going to watch over you, regardless of what you say or do.”

However, Baldur felt even more confused. Who would do anything without some kind of gain?

“Why would you-?

“I already answered that question,” Isiah interrupted, giving the indication with a wave of his hand that he wasn’t going to waste his breath on that topic anymore.

Baldur pouted a little, but decided not to broach it again either. Instead, he found himself idly looking around the room, glancing briefly toward the seating area when he heard a new voice ask what was going on. It was that dancer, the one that filled quests for the Count. He had seen her a few of times at the Grand Mark’s Court.

Not bothering to listen in as Mahalah tried to explain to the female dancer what was happening, he studied his surroundings. The patient room was exactly what he thought it would be. Filled with medical supplies and instruments.

His gaze was soon drawn to a specimens jar resting in the centre of the counter. Inside was that of a single flower, preserved in some kind of liquid. Pure alcohol, probably.

“…This flower?” Baldur murmured as he moved closer toward the object, immediately recognising the powdery petals. While he had never seen it in person, he had been educated enough to keep an eye out for it should he ever come across it.

“You know of it?” Isiah immediately questioned.

“It is found in the Cloudy Stronghold,” Baldur explained. “It is known simply as Nerium oleander. It is very poisonous, just like the land itself. A mere smell is enough to render a person unconscious.”

He paused abruptly and turned to look over at the sickly young man lying prone on the bed.

“But you already know that.”

Isiah scratched his chin in thought for a moment. “So it makes sense that the cure can be found there as well.”

Baldur found himself gaping in surprise. There was a cure for this? Wait…it was Varuna and Nitish, wasn’t it? In all the years it had existed in the Cloudy Stronghold, no one had been able to create a potion to remedy it. So…

“How could they have found a cure so quickly?” Baldur muttered.

“They’re good at what they do,” Isiah smirked.

That…was becoming quite obvious.

However, there was a more pressing matter at hand. Since the flower resided within the Cloudy Stronghold, it meant that an Imperial was behind the ‘attack’ of Kirjonen. An Imperial…no, his Imperials really were causing trouble and mayhem within Tharsis. The attack on the wharf and now this?

What else had they done? Or, rather, were they planning?

Glancing over at the Kirjonen once more, Baldur felt a sense of guilt gnaw at him. “…How is he?” he asked as he ventured a little closer.

“Not good,” Isiah answered honestly with a weary sigh. “He’s declining quickly.”

Baldur nodded his head slowly, a frown tugging at his lips. He suddenly felt very impatient. “What is taking so long?” he muttered as he glanced toward the seating area with a slight scowl.

“Good question,” Isiah muttered, sounding both annoyed and suspicious. “It shouldn’t take Falkner this long to prepare the airships. And where on earth could Roxbury be?”

A sudden commotion outside, like someone forcefully kicking the front door open caused Baldur to jump slightly and Isiah to become tense.

“What was that?” Baldur asked as he glanced toward the seating area.

“I don’t know,” Isiah muttered as a dark expression appeared on his face and he fearlessly strode toward the sound. “Stay behind me.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again GrayToneSkies for commenting! <3

Stepping out of the patient room, Baldur quickly noticed that everyone else was pulled out of the preparations by the sound of something occurring just outside the front door. It sounded almost like a scuffle of some kind.

“Someone’s coming,” Nitish suddenly murmured, looking pale and uneasy. “They’re…they’ve got Falkner.”

Before anyone could ask for more details, the doors to the clinic flew open forcefully, like someone had kicked them in. And standing on the threshold was Falkner, with his arm pinned behind his back and a knife to his throat!

Immediately, Varuna’s protective instincts sharpen at the thought of a teammate in danger. He reached for his knives, his eyes searching for a vital point. However, before he could pull out a knife from his cloak, Telem unexpectedly dropped the knife he had to Falkner’s throat and pushed him forward. As Falkner stumbled to stay on his feet from the unexpected shove, Telem held up his hands in a surrendering position.

Varuna suddenly became still, his senses seemingly unexpectedly relaxing. He looked perplexed. Like he couldn’t sense a threat anymore…even as Telem’s companion, Durriken, stepped next to him, his hands also raised in surrender.

A tense silence fell over the group as Isiah reached out to grab Falkner by his arm, pulling him to the side and toward them, his guild. His brother was immediately by his side, wrapping his arms around his waist in a hug.

“What the hell is this all about?” Bryce broke the silence with what was quickly becoming the most frequently asked question of their lives.

“We couldn’t afford to let anyone stop us from reaching here,” Telem explained rather emotionlessly. “Nor could we afford to be attacked on sight.”

Odd way to go about it. Varuna was ready to slit his throat the second he saw Falkner was being held hostage.

“That doesn’t explain shit,” Bryce spat. “Don’t you work with those Extremists?”

“No,” Durriken was the one to answer, his voice rather terse, almost insulted by the accusation. “It appears so, yes, but it was to learn their real motives.”

Once again, there was a tense silence before Falkner, the one they had taken hostage, gently pushed his brother behind him and took a half step forward. “Let’s just hear what they have to say,” he requested surprisingly before turning his attention back on the shadowy duo. “Well?”

Telem seemed to almost nod his head in gratitude toward Falkner before turning his focus back to everyone else, lowering his arms and letting them hang idly by his sides, but still visible. “We come baring answers to your many questions.”

“Your leader has been kidnapped for his leadership and supportive skills,” Durriken explained in a far too blunt manner.

“The extremists have Roxbury?” Mahalah gasped, his face turning pale.

Telem nodded before adding, “And the wharf-master.”

“C-Ciaran? Why?” Varuna spluttered in disbelief before levelling the two with a piercing glare. “Tell us everything. And start from the beginning.”

“Initially, the extremists were targeting and sabotaging the Tharsis and adventurer’s airships to cause chaos and confusion,” Telem explained. “But when the wharf-master moved your two important airships to a safer location, the extremists decided that he was too much of a liability and needed to be removed.”

“W-what have they done to him?” Nitish skittishly asked.

“Stranded him in the Windy Plains,” Durriken promptly answered with still no emotion seen on either of their faces. “The imperial known as Xander is also with him. He is not of our ilk. He cannot withstand the dangers of the Windy Plains like we could.”

Isiah folded his arms tightly over his chest as he spared a quick glance toward the patient room before glaring at the two at centre stage. “And Kirjonen?”

Unexpectedly, Telem’s eyes flickered over to Logre briefly before looking forward once more. “…Distraction.”

“Roxbury?”

“Unfortunately, we are not entirely sure,” Durriken answered with a small hint of regret in his voice. “He is very useful, after all.”

Telem shared a quick glance with Durriken, the two seemingly sharing a silent conversation before turning to face the guild that was interrogating them once more. “We were assigned to kidnap the sniper.”

Falkner seemed utterly stunned by the blunt admission. “What? Me? Why?”

“You are an expert pilot,” Durriken explained with a seemingly dismissive wave of his hand, as if what they were telling them was obvious. “You are one of a few who can navigate the four lands easily.”

“You know them perhaps better than anyone else,” Telem added as he glanced over at Falkner.

Falkner, however, still looked incredulous. “But Logre can navigate the lands, too,” he argued back.

Durriken’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked over at Logre. “It seems that he has another role to play.”

Logre remained silent, but Baldur could see that he was clenching his jaw tightly in either anger or frustration. Both, most likely.

And Baldur couldn’t help but feel highly agitated as well. For Imperials, for _his_ Imperials to go to such lengths; to poison someone with one of the most poisonous flowers of the Cloudy Stronghold and then to strand another with no combat skills in the middle of the wilderness was enraging. But to kidnap the adored leader of the city’s most beloved guild? That was a declaration of _war._

"Truthfully, someone was meant to go after the female dancer," Telem unexpectedly admitted, prompting everyone to turn toward the brown-haired dancer, Wiglaf, whom of which also looked highly surprised.

"What for?" she asked, his voice slightly high-pitched from the disbelief.

"The extremists wanted to target all who had flying experience of the Cloudy Stronghold," Durriken explained before a frown tugged on his lips and he shook his head. "Honestly, we don't know why you haven't been incapacitated in some manner."

"Jeez, thanks," Wiglaf murmured as she folded her arms across her chest. However, a thoughtful expression soon appeared on her face. "I've been hanging around Yesmina for the last few days, which was cute as she's usually really skittish."

"Yesmina?" Mahalah questioned before a flash of recognition appeared in his eyes. "Ah, yes, the pink-haired imperial, right?"

"That's her."

Telem and Durriken briefly looked over at each other, having a silent conversation with their eyes before Telem shrugged dismissively and turned his attention back toward them as a group.

“These Extremists are punishing us, aren’t they?” Mahalah questioned sadly, and yet there was an underlying sense of anger in his voice.

Once again, Durriken waved a dismissive hand. “In a way.”

“Roxbury was kidnapped because he’s our leader,” Nitish reiterated before an expression of despair and pain appeared on his face as he folded his hands against his chest. “Are they going to hurt him?”

“We don’t know, I’m afraid,” Telem answered, again with a sense of regret in his voice. His expression, though, remained as stoic as always. “He, however, does have an ally. An unconventional one, but he’s better than nothing.”

…Who could that be?

“Why are you telling us this now?” Varuna suddenly asked, his hands twitching slightly at his sides. Obviously, he wasn’t willing to believe their words just yet.

“Because we were being watched, too,” Telem explained quickly.

“You’re not loyal to Neolani?”

Finally, a flicker of emotion appeared on Durriken’s face, and it was the expression of disgust. “Not even for a second,” he practically spat.

“And Falkner?”

Telem shrugged carelessly. “We attempted, you retaliated, we failed. Simple.”

“It might not appear like much,” Durriken went on to explain. “But this failure will cause them some grief.”

“Wait a minute. Neolani?” Varuna suddenly bristled dangerously, his eyes narrowing and his aura becoming positively frightening. “Are you telling me that the bitch that kidnapped Nitish during a raid and forced him into the Echoing Library is the one responsible for the revival of the Sand Leviathan, the attack on the wharf, Roxbury’s kidnapping, Ciaran’s disappearance _and_ Kirjonen’s poisoning?!”

Telem was slightly taken aback. “…Yes?”

“She’s been in town this whole time?” Varuna was absolutely seething. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?! I would have taken that bitch out before any of this shit even happened!”

Everyone instantly became quiet.

They couldn’t…really dispute that.

“I’m sure you would have angsts about it later,” Logre tried to explain that they had good intentions on keeping her name quiet.

But Varuna was having none of it. “It would have been fucking worth it…”

“So, ah,” Mahalah stuttered slightly, somewhat intimidated by Varuna’s vengeful aura, before shaking his head and straightening his posture. “Did you learn of what the extremist’s true motives could be?”

“Unfortunately, all we could learn was that they wanted Tharsis to crumble,” Telem stated as he folded his arms over his chest. “How or why, we don’t know. We do know, however, where they’ve taken your leader.”

“Where?!” Mahalah asked, desperation in his voice and on his face.

“A place called Golden Deer Keep,” Durriken readily answered. Almost too readily.

Before anyone could ask why they should be believed, Nitish moved to stand before the two, turning his back on them so that he faced his guild instead.

“They’re being truthful,” he said without hesitation.

…If Nitish said they were telling the truth, then they should listen.

“Fine,” Logre unexpectedly said as he moved over to the table that was covered in maps and documents. “I’d like to make a proposal for a slight change in plans.”

“What change?” Isiah was the one to ask as he followed him over.

Logre shuffled through the maps for a moment before picking up the one that was titled ‘Cloudy Stronghold’. “I’m heading to Golden Deer Keep while everyone else focuses on finding Ciaran and creating the antidote for Kirjonen.”

“Sir Logre, you shouldn’t go alone,” Achyuta stated with a frown on his lips.

That was right. He shouldn’t go alone. And he wasn’t. Dammit. He wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines a moment longer!

“He’s not.”

Logre stiffened in surprise and quickly turned around to regard him with a shocked expression on his face. “Prince Baldur?”

“I’m going, too,” Baldur stated firmly.

Isiah, of course, immediately disagreed. “Like hell you are,” he practically hissed at him.

“Isiah, stop,” Baldur said, remaining absolute as he turned to face the head medic, not bothering to feel any sense of satisfaction at the surprise etched on his face. He was too angry and annoyed by what had been happening. “Imperials are responsible for all this chaos and mayhem. They are _my_ Imperials, so they are _my_ responsibility. I will deal with them as _I_ see fit.”

The room fell into a somewhat uncomfortable silence before Achyuta took a half step forward. “…Then I will go, too.”

Nitish looked pained and incredibly troubled at the thought, but he chose to keep his words to himself. Instead, he simply reached out to slip his hand into Achyuta’s, prompting the other to turn to him with a small, apologetic smile.

Biast, the purple-furred bushi who was sitting in the lotus position in the only place he could without hitting his head on the roof (which was the kitchen area), also spoke up. “I, too, will go.”

Logre blinked in mild curiosity. “Hm?”

“Nitish is needed to help craft the antidote,” Biast explained as he flicked his ear. “I should be able to hone in on Roxbury’s scent, regardless of surroundings.”

“He’s right. You are all right,” Mahalah murmured as he sunk down onto a chair at the kitchen table, folding his arms atop of it as a weary expression appeared on his face. “Logre, you, Achyuta and Biast are in charge of protecting Baldur and rescuing Roxbury. Bryce, you and Varuna take the Espiritu to Echoing Library; the two of will be enough. Wiglaf, please fly Blayden, Fletcher and Miach to Windy Archives.”

“Yes, of course,” Wiglaf immediately responded.

“Falkner, you will fly Duscha with Kirjonen on board.”

“I’ll get the materials from the Forgotten Capital with these two,” Falkner unexpectedly insisted as he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder toward the shadowy two who had lingered in the background. “They’re coming, too.”

“What?” Mahalah murmured as he snapped his head up to look at him in surprise. “Are you sure?”

Falkner nodded his head once, his expression serious. “Yeah. You need to stay on the airship to help Nitish and Isiah. I’ll keep an eye on these two.”

“Alright,” Mahalah agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

“I’d like Zoran to stay with Kirjonen as well,” Isiah requested as he turned his gaze to the small vessel. “His Sleep Circle will ensure that Kirjonen is as comfortable as possible.”

Zoran nodded his head readily. “I’ll do my best,” he promised.

“We’ll either take my airship or one from the Imperials,” Logre murmured as he began to plot the best route they should take to reach their desire destination.

“What about Ciaran?” Blayden asked, his voice somewhat strained.

Mahalah sighed once more as he grasped his hands together and pressed them against his forehead as he leaned on his elbows against the table. “…We’ll send out guards to look for him. We…can’t be everywhere at once.”

“The Imperial known as Xander is with him,” Durriken reminded everyone. “He isn’t alone.”

Mahalah wasn’t a hundred percent pleased, but accepted it nonetheless. “That’s good.”

“There is always the possibility of being able to pick him up along the way,” Nitish said, trying to offer a glimmer of hope in a seriously overwhelming situation.

“I’m sure we will find him,” Biast added.

“…We’ll have to wait and see,” Mahalah murmured, sounding as tired as he looked. After drawing in a deep breath, he lifted his head and sat up straight, a determined expression on his face. “Let’s go, everyone.”

“Right!”

… … … … …

Slowly wading through the murkiness of semi-consciousness, Roxbury fought the urge to verbalise his aches and pains with a groan. Instead, he lay as still as he could, waiting for the dizziness to subside. He soon realised that he was lying on some kind of bed, lying on his side with a rough pillow under his head. He wasn’t all that comfortable. It was a quick, make-shift cot, it seemed.

There was also something wrapped tightly around his wrists. It was hard and rough. And somewhat painful. Something was also pinning his arms behind his back.

Slowly, he wriggled his wrists and heard the distinct sound of metal clinking against metal. That meant…

Chains…?

He was being retrained with _chains?_

Wait…ah, that was right. Zesiro, he…caught him off guard and proceeded to kidnap him. He remembered everything now. Damn it. How could he be so careless? After what happened to Ciaran he should have been on guard, ready for anything.

True, he never expected Zesiro to pounce on him and capture him. That thought never, ever occurred to him. Not even once.

Never mind that now. He couldn’t afford to waste his time with the what-ifs and regrets. He needed to learn how dire his current situation was. Carefully, he tested his legs and found them immovable as well. Damn it. Even his ankles were bound together.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, still not moving as he didn’t want anyone or anything to know what he was awake just yet. What he saw was Wisteria…and books. A lot of them. He was somewhere in the Cloudy Stronghold. But where? The Echoing Library or one of the other small buildings littering the area?

“Where is the other one?” a female voice suddenly demanded, prompting Roxbury to close his eyes and lay still.

“It seems that they have failed.”

That voice…sounded like Zesiro. But he sounded more complying than the haughty tone he was used to dealing with at Tharsis. Had he been acting the entire time? Or…

“They couldn’t detain that simple redheaded sniper?” the other voice all but sneered, yet there was an underlying sense that she had expected the outcome nonetheless. “I knew classes outside of Imperial were useless. This so-called beloved leader will have to be enough for now.”

...His guild was safe? Good. At least Zesiro kept up that part of the deal.

“I know you’re awake.”

Startled, Roxbury opened his eyes and tilted his head up a little, his eyes widening when he found that a runemaster, no older than he, was standing a few feet away from the bed. Most startling about him, however, was his appearance.

The way his hair was long down his back, the bangs framing his face, the robes he wore…if it were not for the fact that he had brown hair and purple eyes, he would look exactly like Nitish. Even his robes were of the same design, with the same markings, but made of darker shades.

“You’re…?” Roxbury murmured as he struggled to pull himself up into a sitting position, openly staring at the other man.

“Kalan,” the runemaster swiftly replied. “I am his replacement.”

Roxbury pulled his knees toward his chest as he tried to get into a more comfortable position, but it was difficult due to the chains restraining his arms behind his back. “Replacement?”

“When the Emperor and his team failed to return, I was chosen to replace the one known as the Priest of the Sun,” the one known as Kalan explained, his tone even and with little emotion. “However, I was unable to withstand the vast training being such a thing entailed. I am a failure. My punishment is my total blindness.”

Total blindness?

Turning his attention to the other’s eyes, Roxbury noticed that his purple eyes did seem to be somewhat hazy and vacant. Nitish was partially blind in his left eye, so it was considerably more cloudy than he right. Kalan’s eyes, however, appeared…empty.

“How…how can you say that without any emotion?” Roxbury found himself questioning.

“Simple,” Kalan replied with a careless shrug. “I have been trained to possess no emotion. Failures, such as I, don’t deserve to feel a thing.”

That…that was so cruel.

“Did they…did they try to replace…?”

“The one known as the Warrior of the Night?” Kalan worded his question for him, tilting his head to the side. “Yes. They all failed. None could survive the training.”

N-none? W-what kind of training was Varuna forced to endure as a child?

“Ah, our guest is finally awake I see.”

Roxbury turned his attention toward the source of the voice and watched as an elderly man with grey hair and a strangely pointed beard (without as moustache) was escorted into the room. Zesiro covered head to toe in his red armour stood off to the side, a few steps behind him, while the young woman known as Neolani stood next to the older man, an air of superiority surrounding her. She glared at him as the older man walked over to a chair that was situated a few steps away from the bed and sat down.  
   
“Who are you?” Roxbury asked.

“I am Jerimoth, an elder of the empire.”

An elder of the empire? He was behind or a part of his kidnapping?

“What’s the meaning of this?” Roxbury asked, trying to keep his uncertainty and anger from his voice. “Why am I being held captive?”

“Simple precautions,” the elder stated dismissively, seemingly brushing it aside as if it was nothing more than a minor detail. “You are the leader to the strongest guild in the four lands.”

Should he be flattered that they thought so highly of him? Or were they just being sarcastic and revelling in their display of dominance?

“Why am I here?” Roxbury restructured his question more directly.

Elder Jerimoth settled back into his seat and stroked his beard casually. “We have an offer for you.”

That surprised Roxbury greatly. “An offer?” he questioned, masking his scepticism with confusion.

“Yes, one I’m sure you’ll accept,” Jerimoth stated in such a manner that he was highly confident that Roxbury would agree. “You see, you are the leader to a most powerful guild. You have no formal training or blue-blooded traits. None of those under your command do. However, you were able to defeat not only his highness, but the Yggdrasil Titan as well. Quite an extraordinary feat.”

The words were probably meant to be complimentary, but from the tone of his voice, it was obvious that he found the whole thing rather…infuriating.

“We would like you to lend us your skills and trained the new generation of imperials,” Jerimoth continued. “A teacher of sorts. For children.”

Again, Roxbury was greatly surprised. “A teacher?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Jerimoth said as he nodded his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“It may even be a compliment,” Roxbury murmured before he could stop himself. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you _kidnapped_ me and _imprisoned_ me somewhere in the Cloudy Stronghold.”

“You need to watch your tongue, boy,” Jerimoth snapped at him as he narrowed his eyes. Next to him, Neolani visibly bristled, appearing as though nothing would please her more than if she could physically assert her dominance over him.

He had better be more careful with his words. It was obvious that Neolani was volatile and vicious. Anything could set her off. After what happened at the Echoing Library, she must be adamant that nothing like it would ever, ever happen again.

“What exactly am I going to be teaching these…children of yours?” Roxbury asked slowly.

“The children of the empire are weak and sickly,” Jerimoth said, his tone doing little to expression his concern of the matter. “Fortresses, such as yourself, have strong constitutions that allow for powerful defensive stances. I want you to teach our children how to become defensively powerful.”

For starters, a healthy diet could do wonders. Secondly, they should probably stay away from all the toxins and poisons that were staining the lands. Thirdly, maybe they should assess whether or not these children actually _want_ to become soldiers.

Honestly, Roxbury didn’t know what to think. None of what Jerimoth was saying made any sense. If he truly wanted him to become a teacher to up and coming Imperials, then why go through all the trouble to kidnap him?

“You say this is an offer,” Roxbury said as he gave the elder a pointed stare. “But it seems like I don’t have much of a choice.”

The smirk on the elder’s face was startlingly cruel. “How perceptive of you.”

Neolani looked absolutely pleased in a clearly sadistic way as elder Jerimoth pushed himself to his feet, looking down upon Roxbury with contempt in his gaze. Behind him, a troop of Imperial knights appeared, all standing to attention, all covered head to toe in intimidating armour.

“Your new life as a servant to the New Empire starts now.”

...Shit.

… … … … …

Ciaran’s head was positively pounding. It felt as if someone was physically hitting him over the head repeatedly. And it wasn’t only his head that hurt. His whole body ached. His right arm and his left side especially. He felt like he had been punched by a Bounding Beast.

Not that he ever had. But this was exactly what he imagined it would feel like.

“Hng…” Ciaran groaned as he opened his eyes, blinking a few times to rid himself of the blurriness and was confused to find himself staring up at a canopy of trees. What in the world was he doing outside?

“Don’t try to move yet,” a familiar voiced ordered and, suddenly, his vision was filled with the sight of Xander looking somewhat concerned and haggard. “You’ve been injured.”

“…Xander?” Ciaran questioned as he furrowed his brow. “What happened?”

“We’ve been stranded in the Windy Plains,” Xander explained bluntly.

Like a painful flash of light, Ciaran remembered everything. “…Right,” he groaned as he reached up to clutch his forehead.

He could barely believe that it happened. But it did. That woman, that Neolani, had purposely destroyed an airship with one powerful attack of her weapon and left them to most likely perish during the crash.

“We need to keep away from the wreckage of the airship,” Xander stated abruptly as he pulled Ciaran to sit up, wrapping an arm somewhat awkwardly around his shoulders. “We cannot trust other Imperials at this point in time. We must move. Can you stand?”

Relying heavily on Xander, Ciaran managed to take to his feet. He was feeling a bit wobbly, but he was standing. He just needed to ignore the aches and pains for now. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

“We must move,” Xander prompted again as he released his hold on him to grab his driveblade, holding it within one hand and looking at their surroundings with a great deal of suspicion.

“Sure,” Ciaran muttered as he clutched his side with his hand and began to walk.

He didn’t know where they were heading. Didn’t have the faintest idea where they were. They were just walking. He was just following Xander in front of him.

After a few minutes of silent stumbling, Ciaran’s foot caught a stone, causing him to stumble and pain to erupt from his side. He was unable to prevent a hiss from escaping his lips, prompting Xander to immediately turn around to face him.

“You need to be more cautious,” Xander chided. “You are no warrior. You cannot handle even the simplest of injuries.”

While that may be true, that didn’t mean Ciaran wanted to hear it over and over again. Rather, he was getting quite…pissed off by it.

He didn’t say anything though. He just nodded his head and started walking again, once again Xander taking the lead, neither of them saying a word. Minutes seemed to drag by when Xander came to a stop. Also pausing in his steps, Ciaran soon realised why.

In front of them was vision of the sky and the view over the Windy Plains. They must have crashed against or near a mountain’s peak. Or perhaps against the natural wall of the valley. Wherever they were, the only way they could move forward was to climb down. And the rock pile in front of them was clearly the easiest way.

There was no other way. They needed to climb down these rocks. Some of them were pretty steep, though. It was…going to be exceedingly uncomfortable.

As expected of him, Xander effortlessly jumped down a rock, landing without a wince. He then did something unexpected. He stabbed the tip of his driveblade into the ground and turned around to look up at Ciaran, holding out a hand toward him.

“Come,” he said. “We must get down quickly.”

Ciaran stared at Xander for a moment, startled by his offering of aid. His pride was telling him to ignore Xander’s hand and take the rocks on his own. But the rational voice in his head was telling him not to be foolish and stubborn. Causing himself more pain would achieve nothing.

So, with a resigned sigh, Ciaran reached out to Xander, allowing the imperial to help him. He had expected him to haphazardly grip his arm before stumbling down, half relying on Xander to keep him up on his feet.

What he didn’t expect was that Xander would place his other hand against his side, the one that wasn’t hurting, to physically lift him up off the rock before helping him to his feet. He then continued to do so until they reached the bottom of the rock pile.

It was all so surprising to Ciaran how gentle Xander was acting toward him. His hands around his waist, effortlessly lifting him off the ground before moving him elsewhere and placing him back on his feet were very gentle. Almost tender.

He never would have guessed it from the rough and stoic imperial.

Then again, Xander had been surprising him a lot lately.

“Why me?” Ciaran asked as they reached the bottom of the rocky terrane and entered under a canopy of trees. “Why are the Imperials targeting me?”

“You built the airships, didn’t you?” Xander said as he quickly took the lead again, constantly checking their surroundings. “Airships that were never thought of.”

“Logre helped with that,” Ciaran pointed out.

“But it was mainly yourself and your father,” Xander counted.

Ciaran sighed as he subconsciously rubbed his left side to ease the slight ache that was starting to build. “I guess. Still, that doesn’t explain why they’re-”

“You are an important person to Tharsis,” Xander cut him off abruptly. “You are needed more than you realise.”

“Is that so?” he murmured. He wasn’t all that convinced, but it sounded nice.

“There are Bounding Beasts in this area,” Xander stated, his voice sounding somewhat agitated. “You are to hide the very second I tell you. Do not hesitate.”

A duty. An obligation. An order. That was all he was to him.

For whatever reason…that annoyed the shit out of him.

“I want you to stay behind me at all times,” Xander went on to command. “You’re no warrior-”

“I know that!” Ciaran suddenly snapped as he stopped walking, glaring with an unfamiliar sense of pure anger at the Imperial in front of him. “I know I’m not a warrior, but I’m not useless!”

Xander remained infuriatingly impassive as he turned to look at him. “…I didn’t say you were.”

“Don’t give me that crap!” Ciaran all but yelled, feeling unusually emotional and agitated all of a sudden. “Ever since yeh met me, yeh done nothing but insult me and my airships.”

What was he saying? That wasn’t completely true. He had helped him out, protected him. He was just…so angry. He never asked for any of this. He wasn’t cut out for any of this! He knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t anything like the Phaedrons. He was…just sick of always needing help!

He just wanted to be useful…

“You want to know who’s useless?” Xander suddenly asked him, turning around to face him completely. For the first time since Ciaran had known him, there was anger and frustration on his face. “I’ll tell you who’s useless. I am.”

Ciaran found himself taking a half step back in surprise. “What?”

“I am a warrior, but that’s it,” Xander said harshly. “Warriors and knights, we’re the ones who are fucking useless. Inside of battle we are superior, outside of battle we’re a complete waste of space. I’ve been trained to the highest degree of a knight, but that is it!”

Ciaran was stunned into silence as Xander started to rant angrily. But it appeared that he was more angry at himself than at him.

“Follow orders, swing a blade, defeat monsters,” Xander continued. “Nothing more. I don’t know how to function outside of the battle zone. I don’t know how to think for myself as I was never allowed to. I was never taught how. How can you possibly expect someone like me to accept the life that Tharsis is providing for us when I’ve never experienced anything like it before in my entire life?”

That question seemed to cause the air around them to become still and tense. And silent. Uncomfortably silent.

Xander abruptly looked away at him and seemed to berate himself under his breath before spinning on his heel and marching off.

“I-I’m sorry,” Ciaran stuttered as he stumbled after him, honestly feeling horrible about what had happened, about what he had learnt. He had absolutely no idea that Xander thought of himself like that. “I never thought of it that way.”

Xander kept walking, never acknowledging him. Never turning around. Not even glancing over his shoulder at him.

“Yeh…not useless,” Ciaran said as he stopped walking, Xander following suit a few steps later.

He still refused to face him. That was ok, though. He…Imperials weren’t good at handling emotions, were they?

“Yeh helped me out at the wharf lots of times,” Ciaran continued as he gingerly touched his right arm, the injury he had received last night, and looked at the ground. “I mean, I k-know yeh don’t think much of the airships, but…maybe yeh could help me with future designs or something? I mean…I’m not a fighter. I never have been. I don’t know…what explorers and adventures need.”

It was so…awkward.

And where they were…it wasn’t exactly the best place to have a good ol’ heart to heart, was it? They could talk more. When they get back to Tharsis.

“How about a truce?” Ciaran offered after a few minutes of stifling silence and took a step forward, moving closer to the other.

Finally, Xander turned around to face him, his expression as stoic as always. “…Sure.”

Xander then held out his hand toward him and Ciaran took it, without hesitation. In fact, he could say he felt relieved.


	16. Chapter 16

After his ‘introduction’ to elder Jerimoth, Roxbury was abruptly hauled to his feet, his shackles around his ankles removed before he was manhandled through a building known as Golden Deer Keep. They made sure that his arms remained restrained, however, something along the times of not wanting a repeat of that event.

Jerimoth, Neolani, along with the troop of Imperial soldiers then walked over to a set of doors that, strangely, had been locked with sturdy chains and a large padlock that appeared rather ancient. They had been there for a long time, and despite evidence of some tampering, remained strong.

However, Jerimoth produced a key and offered it to Neolani, granting her the chance to unlock the doors, which she did quickly, tossing both the lock and chains aside. As she pushed opens the doors, a large set of steps leading upwards were the focal point of the room.

Ascending the stairs, Roxbury suddenly found himself outside, in an area that held little life. The trees looked bare and sickly, the grass an unnatural yellowy-green. He was still within the territory of the Cloudy Stronghold, but where exactly, he hadn’t a clue.

They marched through the sparse foliage for what seemed like half an hour before another building towered up in the distance. And as they drew closer, Roxbury felt a powerful sense of dread wash over him, making him feel physically queasy.

The building was unlike any other found in the Cloudy Stronghold. Unlike anything he had seen before. It was so much more…darker and foreboding. And old. Ancient. Frighteningly so. The outside walls were weather beaten and stagnate. And completely black. No visible windows. It looked completely unliveable. It might have been mighty once, but no more.

There couldn’t possibly be anything alive inside, could there? Who, or rather what, could possibly survive?

“What is this place?” Roxbury questioned aloud.

Surprisingly, Zesiro seemed to answer. “A place you don't want to wander too far alone.”

Roxbury didn’t trust Zesiro as far as he could kick him, but he was the only person he could actually talk to. He’d likely get a punch to the face if he dared to even look in Neolani’s direction without her consent. He was also somewhat familiar. That was probably what Nitish felt when he was kidnapped and the only person he could find any familiarity with was Achyuta.

He could only hope that Zesiro took after his twin in that aspect.

Barely pausing in their steps, the troops with Jerimoth and Neolani at the front, continued straight toward the foreboding building. Zesiro moved in front of him while Kalan walked a couple of steps behind him. He seemed to be walking around just fine, needing no aide. Not that he would get any, most likely. So, he may be blind, but there was a high possibility that he, too, gained some kind of psychic ability during his harsh training.

Why was he tagging along, though? Were they turning him into a teacher of sorts, too? Or was he around for something else?

Roxbury, of course, didn’t have much time to ponder those questions as he was continually being pushed along. Up a flight of stairs, they travelled and reached a set of doors that seemed to be made of solid steel. Armoured steel.

The sight of them alone was rather…ominous. Why the reinforcement? Were they built to keep out the toxins and poisons of the Cloudy Stronghold? Or was something barricaded inside?

Roxbury didn’t exactly want to know the answer to those questions, but again he didn’t have much of a choice. With a kick from Neolani, the doors opened and everyone fearlessly marched inside.

They soon stopped in their tracks, though.

The outside of the building was haunting.

Inside the building was worse.

_Far_ worse.

The walls were built of a thick masonry and archways of bookcases…and they were all stained a dark, bloody red. In thick, apparently mouldy, patches that dripped down the walls from high above. Because of the low illumination, he couldn’t see the ceiling above and he probably didn’t want to. The deep red patches also dotted the barren floor in seemingly random places. They were also covered in what could only be described as scuff and scrape markings, as if there had been a terrible fight of some kind in the distance past. Or was something drug through here? The scrapings were deep. They could have been made by claws…or desperate human fingernails.

Most unnervingly, though, was the noise. It was strange, like that of scurrying, squirming or something to that degree. It seemed to be resonating from the walls around them, coming at them from every angle. It was almost as if the walls were alive.

“Blood...” Kalan murmured as his face twisted into an expression of disgust. “I can sense only blood.”

B-blood? Were the walls and floors actually stained with blood?

“Stay close to me,” Zesiro unexpectedly prompted, even going as far as grasping Roxbury by his arm and pulling him closer toward him.

He was quickly moving again, those around him all but pushing him along, as if keeping him from something. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to see a familiar pink light shimmering in the distance. He only saw it for half a second before he was pulled around a corner, but it was enough. He immediately knew what it was.

It was a Geomagnetic Pole.

Roxbury had to stop himself from sighing aloud with relief. He didn’t want those around him to realise that he knew it was there. They were obviously trying to keep him away from it. If he could somehow get away, then he could use that to escape back to Tharsis.

Of course, escaping won’t be easy with his arms still pinned behind his back and several on edge Imperials hovering around him. But it was a chance, a hope, something for him to cling onto. And he was going to grasp onto it like a dying man with a bottle of nectar.

…That was probably not the best phrase to use.

As they moved deeper, the lighting grew dim, adding to the already foreboding atmosphere around them. Shadows seemed to seep into every corner, making them dark and endless. The noise was relentless. Their footsteps echoed nosily through the narrow, red covered hallways. Roxbury couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since a human being last walked through here?

A loud crash suddenly shook them to their very core, making everyone jump and wield their weapons in a frantic flurry of movement. Roxbury, Kalan and Jerimoth were all hastily pushed to the very centre of the group. Everyone waited, twitching anxiously for a possible fight. But nothing happened. Nothing appeared.

 “For fuck's sake...” he heard Zesiro hiss under his breath after a moment.

What the hell was that? It was so loud. He couldn’t even begin to describe what it sounded like. But…it seemed to have reverberated elsewhere. Not on this floor. Another one? If this place was anything like the other labyrinth’s he had encountered, then there should be at least three floors. Not exactly a thrilling thought to be honest.

There was something else hidden in these halls. And he wasn't talking about the monsters.

He didn't believe for a second that he was captured to train a bunch of kids in this...strange place. God, he hoped there weren't any children locked away somewhere in this god forsaken place. 

…His purpose was that of a teacher? No. He didn’t believe that for one second. He was their captive for something else entirely. But what?

“Let’s continue,” Jerimoth ordered as everyone silently lowered their weapons and marched onward, Roxbury dragged along once again.

Marching up a thin, straight hallway Roxbury was shocked to see that something was lying in their way. There…there was a skeleton, a skeleton of a human lying in the middle of the path, something written next to it on the floor in a faded red text. That was rather ominous…

His captives, however, walked heedlessly over the bones and writings, continuing forward as if there hadn’t been a pile of bones there at all. Roxbury tried to glance at the writings, to read them as they may offer some kind of knowledge or warning about where they were heading, but couldn’t as he was dragged along forcibly.

“Reading that won’t do any good,” Zesiro unexpectedly said to him, purposely pushing him in toward the centre of the party and next to him.

“You’ve been here before?” Roxbury questioned quietly.

“…No.”

If that was the case, then neither had anyone else from the imperials’ party. They were going in blind. But why? Why were they even inside such a place? And why drag him along when he was going to be a ‘teacher’?

Damn it. He had too many questions and not enough answers. And he knew, without a doubt, the he would find himself asking even more questions before this little adventure was over.

After what felt like hours of mindless marching, they came across a small room that had a strangely coloured mould growing in the very centre. It was a mixture of yellow and green, far different from the walls and floors he had seen so far. Whatever that was, he could expect it to be poisonous. Better steer clear of it.

Pausing for a few moments to seemingly orientate themselves, Roxbury once again found himself looking around. He couldn’t help but notice that the entire place was made up of tall walls, seemingly made of thick brick and bookcases that were all covered in a deep red substance. Not a single window could be seen. Anywhere.

“There are absolutely no windows here,” Roxbury commented idly as he continued to look around with a sense of both awe and fear.

“You know,” Zesiro unexpectedly drawled, prompting Roxbury to turn his attention to him. “There's a superstition where large windows were said to allow the spirit of the dead to enter, so some houses have small windows or none at all. Makes you wonder, though. Were they keeping them out? Or in?”

Roxbury didn’t know how to respond to that.

“It's probably totally irrelevant,” Zesiro went on to say dismissively. “But it is something to think about.”

“You are such an asshole,” Roxbury couldn’t help but hiss.

Although he couldn’t see his facial features due to his helmet, he was more than certain that Zesiro was smirking at him with great amusement. “Forgive me; you're too much fun to play with.”

There was the egotistical bastard he was more accustomed with.

“You!” Neolani suddenly commanded, seemingly directing her attention to Zesiro. “Get over here.”

Dutifully, Zesiro walked over to where she, along with elder Jerimoth and a few of the other imperials had gathered, leaving Roxbury to stand in the middle of the room with Kalan standing next to him. The brown-haired runemaster didn’t seem too bothered by their surroundings, which was a little unnerving. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t see any of the strange markings on the walls and floors?

But he did say that he could sense blood…

Not wanting his mind to wander that trail of thought, Roxbury turned his attention to the group of Imperials. Although they were distracted, he knew it would be suicidal for him to try to escape now. He was still being watched. He also hadn’t the faintest idea where he was.

After a few moments of further study, Roxbury soon realised that they were arguing over a map. It was pretty clear that they couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Let me look at the map,” Roxbury suggested quietly.

“You're in no position to be making demands,” Neolani, of course, immediately snapped at him, looking far more agitated than before. It seemed like their surroundings were starting to get to her as well, but she was unwilling to show it as that was a sign of weakness.

“It's not a demand; I have more experience with maps,” Roxbury explained calmly.

“He has a point,” Zesiro said as he grabbed hold of the map, seemingly ignoring the glare he received from Neolani and walked over to Roxbury. He then held it up in front of him, letting him get a good look at it. “Here.”

With his hands still tied behind his back, Roxbury studied the map in front of him and was silently relieved that he could understand some aspects of it. He had seen it before. Where the paths seemed to run off the map or ending suddenly in oblivion. All paths were in fact connected, even if they weren’t on the map.

It looked just like the one they drew up for the Misty Ravine.

Finally, he got something over his captives.

“This map was drawn to confuse, but it can be simple to follow if you know how to read it,” Roxbury explained as he absentmindedly tugged at the bindings around his wrists. “I'd show you, but I need my hands.”

Neolani seemed to bristle wildly. “Don't even try me.”

“Now now,” Elder Jerimoth seemed to coo to her, which gained him a twitch of her eye. “It's obvious that this man knows his position. He won't fight back. He has no weapon, no armour and no other means of escape. He's completely at our command.”

Neolani did not look remotely happy. She looked furious, to be completely blunt. But after a stern look from elder Jerimoth, she muttered something under her breath before lifting her chin up in a sign of superiority. “...Fine.”

With the map in one hand, Zesiro prompted Roxbury to turn his back to him and he reached around with his other to pull at the chains that were bounding Roxbury’s wrists together. After a second or two, the bindings abruptly fell away, the chains pooling loudly on the floor behind him.

Pulling his arms from behind his back, Roxbury sighed as he rubbed at his bruised wrists. Hopefully they won’t leave any scars. Regaining the use of his hands, however, was overwhelmingly reassuring. If anything should happen, he should at least be able to defend himself.

Taking a hold of the map, Roxbury studied it once more. He needed to make a strong mental note of this map. For when he was able to make a run for it. He had some idea where he was at the very least.

“Ok,” Roxbury said as he held the map out in front of him when Jerimoth and a few of the other Imperials pulled close to look. He pointed as their approximate location on the map before trailing his finger over it, linking the path that ran off the left side of the map to the path appearing on the right side. “So if we go this way, we’ll end up over here. And if we go this way, we’ll end up here.”

There were a few hums and noises of understanding, so he continued.

“It seems that the stairs to the next floor are here,” he explained as he pointed to the top, left hand corner. “There’s no shortcuts mentioned, so we’ll have to go the long way.”

“Hm…Seems to be a few blank spots, though,” Zesiro commented unexpectedly.

It was one of the first things Roxbury noticed, too. “Whoever drew this map was only interested in the route leading to the stairs,” he offered before trailing off. “Although…”

“Although?” Zesiro prompted him to continue.

“It’s-” Before Roxbury could suggest a possible reason for the numerous purple dots located at several points on the map, Neolani snatched the map out of his hands.

“Enough of your blabbering,” she hissed as she moved to become the commander and leader of the group, the one who made all the commands and decisions. Obviously, she didn’t like having a peasant like him knowing something she didn’t. “I am the leader of this party.”

“He did offer us some valuable insight,” Zesiro reasoned.

Neolani immediately turned on him. “Excuse me? Who do you think you are?”

Zesiro paused for a second, seemingly battling himself on the best way to respond. “…Your obedient servant?” he finally offered.

…That sounded like it hurt.

“Remember that,” Neolani practically spat at him before turning on her heel and pushing forward. “Let’s go.”

“Obedient servant my ass...” Kalan muttered under his breath with a scoffing tone.

“Shh,” Zesiro hissed at him as he placed a hand on Roxbury’s back and ushered him forward, Kalan trailing idly behind.

With a slightly better knowledge on how to read the map, the Imperials continued marching heedlessly through the currently unnamed labyrinth.

The deeper they moved, however, the more imposing everything felt. The winding hallways, the sharp bends, the noises. They haven’t met any of the monstrous dwellers, surprisingly, but he could feel them around, hiding in the shadows, no doubt waiting for an opening.

But as frightening as they all were, something scared him even more. Why was he even in such a place? Why were _they?_ He still couldn’t get his head around the ‘teacher’ aspect of his capture. It didn’t seem remotely feasible, yet alone plausible. Veteran explorers would find it difficult to wander in such a place. Children? No. No, they wouldn’t stand it.

“There better not be any children hiding in here,” Roxbury muttered, feeling angry at the mere thought of young, innocent children being holed up in such a wretched place.

“Training centre,” Jerimoth stated dismissively as he clutched a thick, leather bound book against his chest.

Roxbury didn’t believe that for a second. “No one can train here. No one could possibly live here. What kind of stunt are you pulling?”

A deep scowl quickly appeared on Jerimoth’s face as he turned to face him, no doubt appalled that he was speaking out of turn. “Pardon me, boy?” he asked him in a warning tone.

“You heard me,” Roxbury found himself replying defiantly. “Why am I really here? Why are you really here?”

“Our true intentions are not of your concern,” Jerimoth promptly scoffed, seemingly unamused by his little display of insolence.

Roxbury knew that he was treading dangerous waters, but he couldn’t help himself. “Not my concern? You made it my concern when your imperials started attacking Tharsis and my guild.”

“It goes beyond your understanding,” Jerimoth went on to state in an arrogant, haughty manner. “We hold the best intentions for the empire.”

“Your empire is no more,” Roxbury retorted. “No one can safely survive in this environment. Besides, what could this…place offer your New Empire? It’s more deadly and dangerous than the whole of the Cloudy Stronghold.”

“Silence! You are in no condition to be making any sort of demands!”

Neolani was suddenly right in front of him and…a sharp pain abruptly erupted from his side, making him lose his breath for a moment or two. That feeling…it felt like he had just been…

“Know this, fortress,” Neolani hissed as she tugged at his side, taking a step back to reveal a sharp, silver knife. “Your next move might be your last.”

Roxbury immediately clutched at his side, taking a staggering step back in pain. He grimaced when he felt a sickly, sticky warmth start to spread under his hands. “U-understood,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

He really should have expected her to pull a knife and use it on him. His show of boldness was actually pretty stupid, wasn’t it? Damn it. Stab wound to the side? On top of his previous injuries? Shit. It was going to hamper him severely unless it was healed in some manner.

“You,” Neolani said to Zesiro as she casually flicked her hair over his shoulder and threw the bloodied knife against the wall. “Patch this fool up.”

“Of course,” Zesiro replied, but somewhat tersely.

“Everyone else, follow me,” she then ordered, effectively trapping him at the dead end with only Zesiro and Kalan, while she lead everyone else along the long hallway and out of sight.

Surprisingly, Zesiro hastily ripped his helmet off, making a noise that was something akin to a snarl. “Fucking bitch,” he murmured before turning to Kalan. “You. Medica.”

Kalan reached into a sleeve of his robe before pulling out a little blue bottle, tossing it toward Zesiro. “Here.”

Zesiro quickly popped off the lip before thrusting it in his direction. “Drink.”

Was that really medica or…?

“That could be poisoned for all I know,” Roxbury mumbled through gritted teeth. He knew it would be detrimental for him to deny medical treatment, but how could he be sure that it would actually help him and not hinder him even further?

Zesiro shook the bottle slightly. “Which to you prefer?”

Neither was preferable.

After a moment of two of just staring at him, Zesiro sighed with a sense exasperation before doing something surprising. He drank the bottle himself. He, however, didn’t seem to swallow, instead tossing the bottle aside carelessly.

Roxbury immediately felt uneasy. He wasn’t-? He wouldn’t-?

He, unfortunately, found the answers quickly when Zesiro suddenly placed his arms around him, pulling him close to him and placed his mouth right against his. As Roxbury parted his lips to unwittingly release a gasp of surprise, he squeezed his eyes shut when he…when he felt Zesiro’s tongue in his mouth, siphoning the liquid he drank into his mouth.

He pawed weakly at Zesiro’s armour with a blood covered hand, trying desperately to push him back, to push him away. But the other man was stronger than him and his struggles did absolutely nothing to deter or disturb him. His mouth stayed closed tightly over his, his hand on the back of his head holding him perfectly still. He had no choice but to swallow the medicine being forced upon him.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as he swallowed harshly.

Finally, Zesiro pulled his mouth away from his with a slight gasp for breath, while Roxbury spluttered and coughed, feeling momentarily winded. He lifted a hand to hastily rub at his mouth, wincing when he felt a trickle of some kind of liquid (salvia or medicine) on his chin.

Oddly enough, he felt the throbbing ache in his side slowly subside. It really was medica…

It wasn’t going to heal the wound completely, but it would be enough to clot the blood and prevent him from bleeding out. Still, it was going to add to his ever growing list of injuries and limitations.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Zesiro questioned in an irritatingly charming manner, grinning at him.

“Your charm doesn't fool me for a second,” Roxbury hissed at him as he roughly pushed him away, taking a step backwards to put even more distance between them.

Zesiro continued to grin at him. “Hm? Maybe I should try harder?”

“How about you don't try at all?” Roxbury retorted, feeling angry and humiliated by what just happened. “Look, I'm sick of all this patronizing bullshit. Just what the hell is going on? What is this place? What are you trying to do?”

Zesiro was silent as he arched an eyebrow at him. “...So you can be feisty.”

Roxbury immediately bristled. “I can also be fucking furious! Answer my questions already!”

“Not enough time,” Zesiro cut him, his tone serious as he glanced in the direction Neolani had marched the others in. “I'll tell you everything. When we get out.”

God damn it, that wasn’t good enough. But…it would have to do.

“...Just tell me one thing,” Roxbury requested. “Please tell me; are there any children here?”

“No,” Zesiro said, soundingly surprisingly honesty as he kept his blue eyes staring straight at Roxbury. “But continue to pretend that you believe so.”

Roxbury felt his shoulders sag with relief. Good.

“Hey, retard, put your helmet back on,” Kalan suddenly said as he pulled out a handkerchief from his robes and handed it to Roxbury, to wipe the blood from his hands. “She’s coming.”

Zesiro tutted at him as he picked up his helmet from the floor. “You shouldn’t use that as an insult.”

“You’re the one who’s taking it as an insult,” Kalan stated matter-a-factly.

“Don’t try that on me, you sassy little bitch,” Zesiro retorted as he fixed his helmet in place.

Roxbury quickly wiped his hands as best he could and turned his attention to his side, mopping up the blood there as well. “You willingly walked around without your helmet before, but not now?” he couldn’t help asking.

“Neolani doesn't know of my lineage, I suppose you could say,” Zesiro answered with a low tone, seemingly not wanting anyone else to overhear him.

Of course. Achyuta. The one to defy her by protecting Nitish.

“...I think I understand,” Roxbury muttered as he finished cleaning himself up, dropping the now blood soaked cloth to the ground. “She hates his guts, doesn't she?”

“Putting it lightly,” Zesiro almost chortled. “I'd like to know more, honestly.”

“Let’s move,” Neolani ordered before she came into view, looking as impatient as ever when she did. “We’re getting closer to the stairs.”

As they moved down yet more winding pathways, Roxbury couldn’t help but notice how large this floor of the mysterious labyrinth was. Sure, he had some idea after laying his eyes on the map that the imperials held, but it wasn’t complete. There were numerous blank spaces. If he could hazard an educated guess, then if they were to map the entire floor, it would fill up the entire parchment the map was drawn upon.

Turning a sharp corner, the party came to an abrupt stop when they realised that they had reached upon a chamber of sorts and they were not alone. There was a large monster in the form of a ram with orange wool and large, twisting horns. It was standing in the middle of the long chamber, scraping its hoof against the stone flooring, seemingly trying to dig up something hidden.

It, thankfully, hadn’t noticed them yet. Or simply didn’t care.

Roxbury watched the strange-sheep like monster as the Imperials talked to each other in hushed tones and realised that he had seen it somewhere before. Although, it was a different colour and seemed to be spewing out noxious gas from its mouth. “That looks like a Dream Eater from Scarlet Pillars,” he murmured under his breath.

“I sense that it holds a more dangerous ailment,” Kalan muttered in reply.

He wouldn’t be surprised. Everything else did.

Neolani, however, seemed to find the creature more of an irritant that an actual threat. “This shall be easy to distract.”

“Then I will not get in your way,” Zesiro responded.

“Be sure that you don’t,” Neolani scoffed as she flicked her hair over her shoulder.

Despite the helmet, Roxbury could sense that Zesiro was just rolling his eyes in disdain.

Deciding to leave the threat of the FOE to the so-called ‘professionals’, Roxbury turned his attention back to the walls and bookcases around them. Slowly, he reached out with his hand, hesitant to trail his fingertips over the rusty red substance covering the books. However, an armour clad hand suddenly snared his wrist, holding him still, startling him somewhat.

“Wouldn’t risk it,” Zesiro said, his voice disapproving. “It’s probably as poisonous as everything else in the Cloudy Stronghold.”

…Yeah, he was probably right.

“It would be best if you don't touch anything,” Zesiro went on to add, finally releasing his grip on Roxbury’s wrist. “Let me do it.”

“...Could a single touch really lead to poisoning?” Roxbury couldn’t help but ask, mildly wondering what it would be like being so afraid to touch anything with bare hands. He couldn’t imagine living his life always on edge and wearing such heavy duty gloves.

Zesiro gave a light snort in response. “The armour isn't a fashion statement. It's to protect again the threat of exposure.”

“I see...”

“So don't touch anything,” Zesiro reiterated firmly before glancing over his shoulder. “That goes for you, too, Kalan.”

Surprisingly, Kalan simply nodded his head. “Very well.”

“These rusty red walls,” Roxbury mused aloud as he looked around. “Are they covered in some kind of mould?”

…The entire building couldn’t be bathed in blood, surely.

Zesiro was silent as he glanced around, although his helmet made it difficult to assess what he was looking at.

“It’s something that will be worked out later,” Zesiro unexpectedly said, his voice barely above a murmur when he noticed that the imperials were regrouping. “Keep quiet for now.”

With the FOE’s attention turned elsewhere, they quickly hurried up the long chamber, toward yet even more narrow, winding pathways. With Neolani and Elder Jerimoth at the lead once more, they marched, and continued to march silently until a red, flicking light far off in the distance caught their attention.

Picking up the pace a little, they finally came to a chamber, seemingly medium in size, and it held a set of descending stairs, of which were marked with three red lights hanging overhead, casting the area around them in an eerie red glow. Perfectly matching their surroundings.

“We should rest here for the night before proceeding to the next floor,” Elder Jerimoth unexpectedly suggested. “This is taking longer than anticipated.”

Neolani didn’t look pleased; then again it was probably her normal resting face. “Fine,” she said as she indicated to the other Imperials to set up a make-shift camp.

Roxbury glanced at the floor and winced. He couldn’t imagine anyone getting much sleep. It was hard to tune off in any labyrinth, let alone one that was blanketed in darkness and red stains. Other than that sheep-thing, they hadn’t encountered any other monster. What were they waiting for? Strangely enough, if they would just attack and reveal themselves, Roxbury would feel so much better.

Still…his legs were getting tired from walking around all day. And his injury to his side also sapped a lot of his energy.

“Use this to prevent contact with the floor,” Zesiro said as he unexpectedly pushed a blanket of some kind against his chest.

Deciding not to argue, Roxbury nodded his head silently and proceeded to lay the blanket out on the floor. Once it was spread out, Roxbury finally lowered himself down to sit, not realising how much he was aching until he released pressure on his joints. Zesiro then pushed Kalan down onto the blanket next to him while he stayed standing.

Despite knowing the chances of him actually getting any sleep were slim, Roxbury still lay down nonetheless and closed his eyes. He was filled with uncertainty about what else he was going to witness and be dragged through. He, however, was certain of one thing. There was something else going on. There was another part to all of this. For starters, it was obvious that neither Zesiro nor Kalan held any sort of loyalty toward Neolani or Elder Jerimoth.

He quickly remembered what Nitish had said to him a few days prior. About a dream. About him being surrounded by dark shadows. Nitish must have foreseen his kidnapping, although he wasn’t sure of the specifics. Dreams were notoriously symbolic, after all. Besides, no one could have imagined that a group of extremists would kidnap someone like Roxbury. Not when so many others had deeper connections to Yggdrasil and the Cloudy Stronghold.

Looking at the back of Zesiro’s armour as he stood by him, seemingly keeping guard over him and Kalan, Roxbury remembered what else Nitish had said to him.

To trust the red shadow.

Did he mean Zesiro?

… … … … …

Quickly making his way through Tharsis to Logre’s personal airship with Logre and Prince Baldur, Achyuta couldn’t help but tug absentmindedly at his armour. It had been quite a while since last wore his thick metal armour. After wearing civilian clothes for so long, wearing such weighty and heavy duty coverage was uncomfortable. He, however, knew that he needed to wear it. He was heading back to the Cloudy Stronghold. And…

He was going to face Neolani in battle. He wasn’t going to let her exploit any possible weakness. He wasn’t going to let her get anything over him. He wasn’t going to let her hurt _anyone_ ever again!

“Achyuta! Wait!”

“Nitish?” Achyuta questioned as he immediately stopped moving and spun around, a mixture of guilt and concern settling in his chest when he watched his blond-haired runemaster rush over to him. “What is it?” he asked as he took a couple of steps toward him, holding out his arms toward Nitish, and holding him the moment he was close enough.

Nitish took a moment to catch his breath before pressing a piece of paper against his chest. “Here. A burst skill,” he said as he lifted his eyes to gaze directly, desperately into Achyuta’s own. “It’s…flowers that are like that of petaloids…avoid them, please. D-don’t engage with them.”

Achyuta took the spell he was offered and placed it within his armour, with easy access. He wasn’t sure what the spell was, exactly, but he knew it would be useful indeed. “…I understand.”

“Be careful,” Nitish whispered softly, his beautiful blue eyes slightly teary as he gazed up at him.

Silently, Achyuta slipped an arm around Nitish’s waist and pulled his toward him, as close as possible. He slipped his other hand behind his neck, his fingers entangling within his long blond hair as his thumb gently caressed his cheek. Nitish curled his hands into fists as they continue to rest against the harden steel of his armour and leaned up on his toes as Achyuta lowered his head toward his. Achyuta tilted his head to the side ever so slightly and pressed their lips together in a kiss that was both desperate and reassuring.

After a few loving caresses, Achyuta slowly pulled away, watching as Nitish kept his eyes closed for a moment or two before slowly opening them and gazing at him once again.

“I will return to you, I promise,” Achyuta said as he once again gently stroked the side of Nitish’s face with his thumb. “And Roxbury will be safe as well.”

Nitish nodded his head as he reached up with his hand and rested against Achyuta’s wrist, reluctantly tugging it away. “I know.”

“Achyuta…” Logre called out to him, almost reluctantly.

“Understood,” Achyuta responded. He gave Nitish one last gentle look, squeezing his hand before reluctantly pulling away and turning to join with the rest of his party. It took all his will power not to turn around and look at Nitish again.

For, if he did, he would see that expression of heartbreaking worry on his face and he would immediately run back to him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knee is officially an asshole. It locked up yet again. And yet again, I’m on morphine pain killers. I might not be able to update next week. It all depends how quickly I can get my knee back into working order without having to rely on powerful painkillers. We’ll have to wait and see, I suppose.
> 
> Also, I have a Tumblr now. Won’t be much in it, probably. Anyway, if you want to follow me there, it’s under the usual name; TheShatteredRose.
> 
> Anyhow, looooooooooooong chapter ahead! Enjoy!

Ciaran had no idea that the terrains of the Windy Plains were so dense and rocky. From high above in an airship, all he could see where green foliage and farming grounds. But being in the middle of it made him appreciate just how diverse everything truly was.

It also made him wonder what more could be done to prevent further airship crashes. So far they had been lucky. Tharsis hadn’t experienced the enormous emergency of an airship crashing anywhere in the four lands, but what would they do if they did? Sure, they could ask the Phaedron guild, with the likes of Nitish and Biast at the bow to use their useful skills, but they couldn’t expect them to stay in town all the time, waiting just in case. There had to be other ways.

An emergency supply kit on board the airship? Signal flares? Maybe some kind of lodging system at the wharf where they would log in what time they were leaving and what time they were expected to be back?

“It’s getting dark,” Xander’s voice pulled Ciaran from his musings. “We best find a place to sleep for the night. We cannot travel in the dark.”

Glancing up toward the sky through the canopy of trees, Ciaran noticed that the blue sky was starting to fade into a mixture of red and orange. “Sure.”

They had been walking for hours and Ciaran still hadn’t a clue where they could be or how they were going to make it back safely to Tharsis. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it for every long, though. He had to think about his present, not the future.

They were somewhat lucky that the Imperials seemed to have been in a hurry to get rid of him. If they were really serious about the matter, then they would have stranded him somewhere he was sure not to survive. Like the Sacred Mountains. Spending the night in that cold, frigid place without shelter would be unbearable.

Sitting down upon a large rock to ease the ache in his legs and back, Ciaran watched as Xander started to look for some fire wood, staying within sight at all times. Although he didn’t know how they were going to get back to Tharsis, he knew one thing for certain; he’d be completely lost without Xander. There was absolutely no denying that. Without Xander he’d be dead. Several times over.

How could he even begin to thank him for that? Would Xander even know how to take someone’s appreciation?

Ciaran was pulled from his musings once again by a faint sound. At first he thought it was nothing more than the blood pumping in his ears due to a headache that was steadily growing. However, he concentrated on it and realised that the sound was becoming louder. It was a slight whirling, chopping sound, like something slicing through the air.

“Wait…that sound,” Ciaran muttered as he staggered to his feet, keeping his full attention to the sky above them. “It’s an airship…Ah, its Logre’s airship!”

“Are you certain?” Xander asked as he, too, turned his attention skywards.

“No doubt about it,” Ciaran said as a large grin spread across his face. “I know the sound of that slightly off-centred prop anywhere.”

“There’s a clearing up ahead,” Xander said as he quickly made his way over to Ciaran’s side, only to snare his wrist in his hand and pulling him along.

They quickly entered an opening in the foliage, allowing them to once again cast their eyes over the scenery of the Windy Plains. They couldn’t go very far, though. They…were on the side of a cliff?

Xander suddenly released his hold on his hand and withdrew his driveblade from his back. He darted forward, toward a lone standing tree. He then unexpectedly lifted his weapon high over his head and used some kind of fire elemental attack, felling a large tree in a loud explosion that seemed to echo over the plains.

As fiery sparks floated upwards, Ciaran’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “What was that-?”

“It will get their attention,” Xander explained as he quickly holstered his driveblade upon his back in one fluent movement. “Something Imperials had to learn should they ever be stranded out on the field. Sir Logre knows it, too.”

Sure enough, the green sailed airship seemed to be moving off course and heading in their direction. But…

“The wind and terrain will make a difficult landing,” Xander said as he reached for Ciaran’s hand again, Ciaran instinctively reaching out toward him as well. “They can only do a flyby. Quickly.”

With his hand held tightly in Xander’s, Ciaran was pulled along, forced to run as the airship, still travelling at speeds, approached them. As Xander had said, they would not be able to do a conventional landing due to the landscapes and trees. Opting for a boarding mid-flight was all that they could hope to do.

A rope ladder was quickly thrown over the side and whoever was at the helm was skilled enough to steady the airship, to prevent the rope ladder from flailing out of reach.

Xander paused for only a second, but it was enough time for him to abruptly pull Ciaran toward him and up against his chest. He wrapped one arm securely around his waist as the other reached for the rope ladder, grabbing it tightly. Ciaran could only wrap his arms around Xander’s neck and hold on tight as they were both swept off the ground by the movement of the airship, only Xander’s hold on the ladder preventing them both from falling.

With Xander’s hold around Ciaran, he couldn’t pull the both of them up. Thankfully, he didn’t need to. Those on board the airship were pulling them up by the rope ladder. Placing his feet against the hull of the airship to steady them, Xander allowed for someone in heavy duty armour to grab a hold of Ciaran’s arm and effortlessly pulled him on board the gondola.

As Ciaran hastily scrambled on board, never having to experience a boarding mid-flight before, he finally looked up to see who it was that was helping him and he immediately felt intense relief. It was Achyuta. The Phaedron guild had saved him once again.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Ciaran watched as Biast reached over the side of the airship, snag a hold of Xander’s armour and then quickly tugged him on board as well, the dark-skinned imperial somewhat surprised by how easily the purple-furred bushi was able to manhandle him.

“Ciaran, are you all right?” Achyuta asked him, grabbing him by the shoulder and giving him the once over.

“Y-yeah, fine,” Ciaran stuttered with relief.

“We’re grateful to have found you,” Achyuta said as a genuine smile appeared on his lips. “A weight off all our minds.”

He was grateful to be found!

“I’m afraid that we can’t afford to turn around and take you back to Tharsis,” Logre’s voice suddenly stated.

Ciaran turned toward Logre who was at the controls and it was only then that he realised that Logre, along with Achyuta, were dressed in their imperial armour. They rarely wore their armour anymore. Not since Isiah outright forbid it due to their impracticality. Even Baldur was dressed for battle! The sight of them together immediately made him uneasy.

“What’s happening?” he asked, almost hesitant to hear the answer.

Logre sighed. “…Kirjonen has been poisoned and Roxbury has been kidnapped by extremist Imperials.”

Ciaran felt his breath leave him. “Yeh joking…?”

Logre pressed his lips together in a grim line. “No.”

“How-? Why-?” Ciaran stuttered.

“I’m afraid we don’t know,” Logre answered quickly, his expression matching the seriousness of his voice. “But we _will_ find out.”

A terrible thought suddenly struck Ciaran and he staggered over to Logre, grabbing him desperately by the arm. “Y-yeh haven’t been wasting your time looking for me, have yeh?”

“We’ve sent out numerous Tharsis soldiers to search for you,” Logre went on to explain, his expression changing little saved for a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “We…we’ve been forced to split into four groups, each with an agenda of our own.”

“I haven’t slowed yeh down?”

Logre gave him a lopsided grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Honestly, we feel guilty that we couldn’t search for you.”

Ciaran breathed a small sigh of relief as he released his hold on Logre’s arm. “No, no, I’m glad yeh didn’t. Man…”

He could barely believe that Roxbury, of all people, was kidnapped. If he was taken captive, then anyone could have been a target.

“Until we rescue Roxbury, you must stay with us,” Logre went on to say.

“R-right,” Ciaran murmured. “I’ll stay with the airship. And keep it running.”

“Xander-?”

“I will aid his highness in any way possible,” Xander responded dutifully.

Yeah…Xander would be more useful helping out Baldur and the others than hanging out on the airship with him. Besides, being on the battlefield…was all the Xander knew. And airships were all that Ciaran knew.

“Let me fly the airship,” Ciaran unexpectedly requested. “Yeh guys need to be on yeh game for when yeh rescue Roxbury.”

Logre frowned deeply at him. “You’re injured,” he pointed out.

“They’re only minor,” Ciaran said dismissively. “Really. At least let me until the Sacred Mountains or something.”

Logre looked ready to argue, but was silenced when Xander unexpectedly said; “Sir Logre, I think you should let him.”

Logre was surprised as he looked over at Xander. Ciaran, too, glanced over at Xander, easily catching his gaze. Ciaran couldn’t help but smile softly. After their, ah, conversation earlier it seemed that they’ve come to an understanding regarding each other.

After a moment of silence, Logre finally relented, relinquishing his grip upon the steering column. “Very well,” he said as he gave Ciaran a pointed stare. “But only if you drink some medica we have on board.”

“Sure.”

… … … … …

Just as Roxbury had suspected, he didn’t get any sleep. Honestly, how could he? He wouldn’t be remotely surprised if no one got any sleep.

Pushing aside his exhaustion and hunger, Roxbury took to his feet when he was ordered to and silently followed as Neolani and Jerimoth lead the party down the stairs to the next floor. The stone stairs weren’t in the best condition with a few steps either decaying or missing altogether. He tried to push aside the fact that they, too, were covered in red…stuff.

When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, they were greeted with the sight of a rather unremarkable room, the only feature a door that seemed to have been bright red once, only now the paint had faded and chipped away.

Clearly, it was their only way forward.

As they opened the door and pushed through, the group found themselves pausing in their steps. It wasn’t hard for Roxbury to figure out why when he was also dragged into the room.

Mixing with the red scraping and scratched marks where these strange swirling green liquid like substances on the floor. He couldn’t even begin to describe what the green stuff was. It looked potent. A poison? A living, breathing fungi?

Whatever it was, he didn’t want to touch it.

The other Imperials, though, didn’t seem as hesitant.

Thanks to his armour, Zesiro was able to withstand the…whatever the hell that green, moving stuff was and holstered Kalan over it, preventing him from touching it. As other Imperials ploughed onwards, heedless to the floor, Zesiro turned to Roxbury, indicating for him to come to him.

Knowing that it would be suicidal to allow himself to get his legs or feet injured (he was injured enough, for heaven’s sake), Roxbury reluctantly walked toward Zesiro, to allow him to help him over the strange swirling green goo on the floor. He had expected Zesiro to do the same to him as what he did with Kalan; grab him around the waist and practically throw him over the dangerous flooring (and maybe spin around and give him a middle finger or two as thanks like Kalan did). Instead, much to Roxbury surprise and humiliation, he seemed to sweep him off his feet and carried him over to safety.

Of course, the second it was safe for him to stand, Roxbury struggled out of Zesiro’s arms and pushed him off. He could feel a light flush of embarrassment spread across his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but because of that dratted helmet, he couldn’t see Zesiro’s expression. He, however, was more than certain that he was smirking at him.

Zesiro was able to pick him up so easily. It was actually quite startling. No one had ever picked him up like that before. Not since he was a small child, anyway.

Turning away from he assumed was a greatly amused Zesiro, Roxbury found his attention drawn to a red coloured door on the east wall of the room. The door was unlike the one they had walked through. It was completely red. No scrapes, no faded paint. There was a strange red light overhead, though. And it was quite bright.

In a surprisingly cautious manner, Neolani opened the door and pushed it open. What appeared before them was nothing but an empty, black void. They weren’t…they weren’t actually going to go in there, were they?

“Stay in line,” Jerimoth suddenly ordered, leaving absolutely no room for argument as he handed Neolani a piece of paper. The map, most likely. “Do not move out of formation. And follow closely.”

Yeah, thought so. They were going to go in. It seemed like straying off path, even for a second, could be dire. Better be extra careful.

Quickly ushered into the room, Roxbury couldn’t see any more than a foot in front of him. He could barely make out Kalan’s profile and he was right in front of him.

“Can you see anything?” Roxbury suddenly heard Zesiro asked Kalan in a hush whisper.

Kalan sighed. “I can’t visibly see shit, dickwad,” he murmured in reply.

“Then use your _other_ senses, asshat.”

…They may look like Nitish and Achyuta, but they were absolutely nothing like them in personality.

“…Yeah,” Kalan said after a couple of seconds of silence. “I can ‘image’ the path.”

“Good.”

Roxbury felt slightly nervous. Was Zesiro planning something?

Finally making their way slowly through and out of the pitch blackness, the light of another room didn’t offer then much relief. Again, the floor was covered in withering, green splotches of something. And, like the previous chamber, there was a red door with a red light overhead beckoning them from the other side. That door looked just the one they walked out of.

Don’t tell him?

Sure enough, as they scrambled over the hurtful tiles, Roxbury once again being practically carried over effortlessly by Zesiro, when they reached the door and threw it open, they saw nothing but a black void of nothingness.

Another darkness filled chamber? They might as well call the whole labyrinth the Hall of Darkness or something.

Turning his attention to the group of Imperials that were huddled near the door with Jerimoth and Neolani, Roxbury was able to overhear a few of their words. It seemed, by what he could deduce, that the map in their hands didn’t show the correct path through the next room and they were wondering what would happen if they strayed.

Jerimoth suddenly made a motion with his hand toward Kalan and those with him all turned to look as well. With his back toward them and facing him, Roxbury could see that Kalan noticed that he was being stared at and wasn’t exactly happy about it. The way he was wrinkling his nose in annoyance was a sure sign.

“You, the runemaster. You’re psychic or something, aren’t you?” Neolani snapped at Kalan.

Kalan clicked his tongue and murmured under his breath, “Definitely _something,”_ before his face smoothed out into a blank expression and he turned around to face them.

“To wander off the path will result in being transported back to the last door they walked through,” Kalan explained before pausing and focusing in the direction of the black void on the other side of the door. “This particular path will shift and change each time we enter. It would be best to get through it at once.”

Neolani muttered something under her breath and Jerimoth looked displeased. However, they couldn’t argue back or refute Kalan’s words. After all, he sounded like he knew what he was talking about and what he did say, made quite a bit of sense, really.

With a great amount of reluctance on Neolani’s part, Kalan took the lead and Zesiro pushed Roxbury to stand right behind him, but unlike last time, Zesiro purposely positioned himself right behind Roxbury. The first few steps were like last time – completely black. He couldn’t exaggerate how dark it was. It was overwhelming.

However, after a couple of seemingly sharp corners, a wall appeared in front of him. Being able to see the wall was somewhat reassuring. Not a lot, mind you, but seeing the red smudged wall was better than gazing out at total and complete darkness.

After a few more steps, Kalan came to an abrupt stop, so sudden that Roxbury nearly crashed into him. He then turned around to face those behind him and raised his hand. Suddenly, he created a fireball with his hand, granting them a bit of light. Not much, unfortunately, but was able to illuminate enough for them to see each other.

“The path is diverting and shifting,” Kalan said frankly.

“What do you expect us to do?” Jerimoth asked him.

Kalan, however, said nothing. He just looked blankly. Feeling somewhat expectant that something was going to happen, Roxbury took a step back to move closer to the wall and, hopefully, out of the way. He then glanced over toward Zesiro, finding the man seemingly in a thoughtful mood.

With a loud sigh, Zesiro suddenly folded his arms across his chest in an exasperated manner. “Well, shit,” he muttered aloud.

“What?” Neolani snapped at him, clearly becoming more unnerved and agitated by their surroundings.

“I just realised what you assholes are actually trying to do,” Zesiro replied as he unfolded one of his arms to tap his helmet, seemingly mulling over something. Despite the way Neolani was glaring at him, he stayed in that position for a few drawn out moments before sighing and dropping his arms to his sides.

“Yeah, no, not happening today.”

Before anyone could react, Zesiro lashed out, kicking at Neolani and knocking her back into the dense blackness where she promptly disappeared completely. He then turned to face the a masked Imperial, snaring the wrist that held his driveblade, gave it a slight twist and promptly disarmed him. Before shock could register to the imperial, Zesiro promptly kicked him into the darkness as well.

He then thrusted the handle of the driveblade toward Roxbury. “You know how to use this, right?”

Startled, Roxbury grasped at the weapon and held it within his two hands, not taking his gaze off of Zesiro. “Somewhat,” he replied.

“You dare turn your back on the New Empire?!” Jerimoth practically shrieked at Zesiro as he turned around to face him.

Zesiro gave him a one finger salute, as it were. “See ya, gramps,” he said before also kicking him into the blackness.

Casually throwing the fireball in the direction of the other Imperials that were at the back of the group, shocking them into springing back in anticipating for a battle, Kalan snared Roxbury by his wrist and tugged him further into the shadowy darkness.

“This way,” he prompted. “I may not be able to visibly see, but I can spiritually. There is a path through this darkness. It’ll take them a while to figure it out.”

Wordlessly, and quite frankly shocked, Roxbury allowed Kalan to pull him along. He quickly glanced over his shoulder was able to make out the shadowy figure of someone following him. He wasn’t alarmed, though. In fact, there was a sense of relief. The one following him, after all, was Zesiro.

Quickly throwing open a set of doors, Roxbury promptly found himself out of the darkness and into a dimly lit hallway. Before, the redness of the walls was unnerving, but after encountering two room of black nothingness, even seeing the potential bloody walls and floors was somewhat reassuring.

“As I said before, to wander off the path will result in being transported back to the last door they walked through,” Kalan explained as Zesiro closed the door behind them and seemed to be looking for something to prop against it. “It’ll take them a few hours to work it out for themselves.”

By the time they do figure it out, they’ll probably be so pissed off that they’ll slaughter anything and everything in their path. Better make sure they were well ahead of them when they do get through.

“Doesn’t the path shift?” Roxbury asked, remembering Kalan’s previous statement.

“No,” Kalan answered simply. “It stays the same, no matter how times they enter. They don’t need to know that, though.”

Ah…Clever.

“How do you know this?” Roxbury couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m psychic or something,” Kalan retorted with a slight scoff. “Who fucking knows? I just do.”

“Fucking hell.”

Upon hearing Zesiro curse under his breath, Roxbury turned to the other man to find him pulling off his helmet, shaking his head a little to allow his long blond hair to fall down his back.

“You think walking around that darkness was bad, try doing it with a fucking helmet on,” Zesiro practically hissed as he dropped the helmet to the ground and then kicked it harshly at the doors, seemingly using that as some sort of jamming device. “Couldn’t hear shit.”

Honestly, Roxbury was surprised that Imperials could do anything in that armour. It was just so balky and cumbersome.

After ensuring that his driveblade was safely upon his back, Zesiro walked over to Roxbury and Kalan, and as he placed his hands on their backs, he pushed them forward, moving them on.

As they moved down a narrow corridor, Roxbury found himself pausing. A thin metal railing was all that was between them and a great big hole in the floor. With the wall completely missing, he could see that another door lead to the darkness filled room. And there was something unusual there, too.

“A treasure chest?” Roxbury questioned aloud. Who or what would put a treasure chest in this place?

“Want to go back in?” Zesiro asked him, indicating in the direction they had walked.

Roxbury promptly shivered and shook his head. “Not in particular.”

He never wanted to experience that kind of darkness again in his life. And there was certainly no way in hell he was letting anyone from his guild anywhere near this place!

“This place is worse than I thought,” Zesiro murmured as he eyed off their surroundings, his eyes lingering for a while on the hole in the floor that probably reached down to the floor below.

Stabbing his driveblade into the ground and leaning against it to rest for a moment, Roxbury focused his attention on Zesiro. Now would be a good time to finally get some answers. “Is this where the toxins started from?”

Zesiro gave him a one shoulder shrug. “Most likely.”

“What is this place even called?”

“Hall of Darkness,” Zesiro quickly provided with a slight smirk. “Creative, right?”

So, he was right. “Accuracy is rarely creative.”

It was still somewhat unnerving to him that they hadn’t encountered a single monster. They were around. He could feel them, hear them. Why weren’t they ambushing them? There were just three of them now. Were they waiting for something else?

Of course he didn’t want to deal with a monster attack. The floor itself, with the potentially poisonous walls and floors, with the swirling green things covering the floors and the seemingly endless void of nothingness, was dangerous enough. It was just the fact that nothing had attacked them yet made him feel that something bigger was planned for them.

“Damn it,” Roxbury muttered as he clutched his forehead in frustration. “I feel so naked without my armour and shield.”

Zesiro unexpectedly made a sound that was like a snort and a cough at the same time. “Hardly the time for flirting.”

Roxbury furrowed his brow as he looked at him. “Pardon?”

Zesiro, however, didn’t respond. He simply frowned and turned his attention to their surroundings again. His reaction was prompted by that strange writhing, wriggling sound again. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere underneath the floor. Right below them. It seemed louder where they were standing.

“That sound,” Roxbury muttered as he supressed a shiver. “It's like something's...squirming, for a lack of a better word.”

“It's coming from the floor below,” Zesiro muttered as he hastily looked around and reached up to grasp the handle of his driveblade. He then glanced over to the railing where the treasure chest could be seen on the other side. His brow furrowed deeply as he walked quietly over to it and looked cautiously over the side in the pitch blackness below. “It's louder here. I can't see anything, though.”

“What me to drop a fireball?” Kalan casually asked.

“And piss it off?” Zesiro responded with a frown as he turned away from the railing. “I don’t think so.”

Quietly, Roxbury also approached the railing to have a look himself, but like Zesiro, he couldn’t see a single thing. How far was the floor below? Was there even a floor below them? Could be some den or hasty confinement for all he knew.

“Do you know what’s here?” Roxbury asked as he turned his attention to Zesiro.

“Only vaguely,” Zesiro replied with a slight shrug and continued to survey their surroundings with great suspicion. “Something about Insatiable Pupa or something to that effect. Said to be a saviour should Yggdrasil lose control. That’s all I know.”

So…something big _and_ powerful then? Just _great._ As if the Yggdrasil Titan wasn’t dangerous enough.

“A back up or a fail-safe system, I wonder…?” Roxbury murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Whatever it is, it means it’s more powerful than the Titan,” Zesiro added.

Roxbury grimaced, probably looking as displeased as he felt. “And the extremist want to get their hands on it.”

Zesiro unexpectedly granted him a mockingly charming smile. "Has anyone told you that you're cute when you're angry?"

Roxbury felt his eyebrow twitch, his agitation growing even further. He didn't respond to that, as he was fairly certain Zesiro would twist around his words, mocking him further. That...bastard certainly knew how to press his buttons, didn't he?

“In any case,” Zesiro said in a dismissive manner, something he did often, unfortunately. “I need you to trust me for now.”

Roxbury sighed and ran his hand over his face. “As crazy as it seems…I do trust you,” he muttered. “God knows why, but I do.”

Zesiro looked over at him quickly, an expression of surprise on his face. However, it lasted only for a second as his attention was quickly drawn away by the sound of a loud crash, much like the one they all heard on the floor above. It was so startling and loud that everyone just about jumped a foot in the air.

“Let’s keep moving,” Zesiro said as he grabbed Roxbury by his shoulder and pushed him toward Kalan, before then herding the two of them in an easterly direction.

Moving along the narrow hallway, the path seemed to widen as they reached an open area. But leading into the area was a strange smudging on the ground. As he drew closer, Roxbury noticed that the smudging seemed to be of words, words written a long time ago.

Stabbing the point of his driveblade into the floor, Roxbury leaned against it as he lowered himself to his knees, to get a better look at the hasty scribbling on the ground. However, the writings were so faded that the only thing legible was a single word…

“…Insect?” Roxbury mumbled aloud.

Zesiro paused for a moment as he also glanced at the red scrawl on the ground. “They must mean the pupa or whatever the hell it is,” he offered as he grabbed Roxbury up his upper arm and pulled him back to his feet.

Now that he thought about it, that squirming noise that he had been hearing everywhere? It could be coming from that pupa insect thing the words mentioned. If it was able to make so much noise through the entirety of the labyrinth…how big was it? Or, rather, how _strong_ was it?

Stepping away from the faded scrawl on the floor, Roxbury found his attention drawn to a set of doors that were a faded red in colour. They weren’t the bold red he had witnessed on the doors leading to those darkness rooms, so could he assume that it was simply an open room on the other side.

“I wouldn’t go through those doors,” Kalan suddenly warned them.

Zesiro, however, kept walking over to the doors. “Why’s that?” he asked casually over his shoulder.

“I sense a dangerous force,” Kalan answered with a slight scowl.

Heedless of his warning, Zesiro pushed open the doors and took a single step forward and stopped. His curiosity at full strength, Roxbury moved to stand next to him and looked inside. The room was far larger than anything he had seen before. It, too, was filled with that moving and painful green substance on the floor, making it difficult to move too far without getting hurt.

However, it wasn’t the floor Roxbury was looking at. It was the six (yes six) strange floating beings with pumpkins for heads and thorny vines for bodies that had his undivided attention.

And with a chorus of shrills and screams, Roxbury, along with Zesiro and Kalan, had their undivided attention. With a ghostly cackle, six pumpkins, two green, two blue and two orange, were charging straight toward them.

Immediately, Zesiro grabbed the back of Roxbury’s shirt and pulled him back. With him out of the way, he then slammed the doors shut, bracing them with his hands and digging his heels in. Helping him out, Roxbury pushed against the door with his shoulder when they suddenly bowed in from a powerful collision on the other side. The monsters themselves or merely an attack, he didn’t know. But it was _powerful._

“I told you not to open those doors,” Kalan simpered at them, not looking remotely pleased.

Zesiro, however, hummed in thought as he turned around and rested his back idly against the still trembling door and held his chin. How he could look so calm was somewhat irritating. Especially when Roxbury’s heart was nearly thundering out of his chest.

“Interesting,” Zesiro murmured. “Stairs to another floor.”

…When did he have time to notice anything but floating pumpkins?

“They seem to be unattainable from this room, though,” Zesiro continued as he casually pushed away from the doors that had become still, completely unfazed by what happened. That, or he was really good at keeping his emotions in check. “There’s another room. Let’s try there.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to, well, leave?” Roxbury asked as he cautiously moved away from the doors, half expecting them to burst open any second. He really didn’t want to linger around these red stained walls longer than necessary. That Geo Pole on the first floor would take them straight to Tharsis, surely.

“Neolani would expect us to do that,” Zesiro responded. “Besides, I saw two stairs. One must lead up. Hopefully, she’s not aware of them. We might be able to sneak around her. We need to keep going. You're not safe yet.”

“We also have to cater for others,” Kalan added, purposely being vague as to who the others were.

…They really were trying to help him. But why?

No, he was in no state to question the motives of others at the moment. He had…he had to trust that ‘red shadow’ Nitish told him about.

“Huh…” Zesiro unexpectedly muttered. “There’s actually a set of stairs straight ahead. They must lead to the very centre of the floor above.”

Roxbury glanced over in the direction that Zesiro was looking in and immediately saw that he was right. There was a set of stairs, much like the one they used to descend to this floor. The three eerie red lights were a complete giveaway. However, they seemed to be going up, not down.

As he turned back to Zesiro, he realised that the red-armoured Imperial was looking at a map of some kind. “That map?”

“It's not mine,” Zesiro said rather dismissively. “It's old. From decades before. Not even completed.”

Roxbury nodded his head idly before furrowing his brow in slight confusion. “Didn’t Neolani have that? When did you manage to get it?”

The smirk on Zesiro’s lips was practically wicked. “I have my ways.”

Roxbury didn’t doubt that for a second. “Have you been here before?”

“You're just full of questions, aren't you?” Zesiro said as he folded up his map and tucked it away into the neck of his armour. “No, first time. It's-”

Zesiro was interrupted by the sound of a thunderous crash. The sound made Roxbury jump a little in surprise, while Zesiro seemed to grin at it, seemingly recognising it.

“Ooh, sounds like they're getting feisty,” he practically crooned in sadistic delight. “Neolani must be pissed. Let's go.”

Roxbury stumbled slightly when Zesiro hastily pushed him and Kalan toward the stairs. “Why are you protecting me?” he found himself asking as the three of them began to ascend the shambled and crumbling staircase.

“What makes you think I'm protecting you?” Zesiro asked him in return, even as he reached out to grab him by the arm and all but haul him over a couple of crumbling steps.

“What are you doing?” Roxbury asked as he felt Zesiro place a hand on the small of his back to propel him to continue forward. “What are you really planning?”

“Now now,” Zesiro drawled at him. “Telling you everything would destroy the air of mysteriousness surrounding me.”

“In other words, shut up and stop asking questions?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“Not bloody likely,” Roxbury snapped, getting somewhat annoyed. “I think I deserve some answers, both straight forward and dodgy.”

Zesiro’s laugh almost sounded genuinely amused. “You’ve got guts. I like that.”

“You do realise that your brother did something similar to this?” Roxbury couldn’t help but comment.

“Great minds think alike, I suppose you can say,” Zesiro said casually with a shrug as he casually placed an arm around his waist, helping him once more over the difficult terrain of the stairs. “There's a difference, though. He likes blonds. I prefer brunettes.”

Roxbury furrowed his brow and unintentionally moved closer to Zersio to glance over his shoulder to Kalan, whom had been silently following the entire time. “Are you talking about Kalan?”

A look of disgust appeared on Kalan’s face. “Not fucking likely.”

Again, Zesiro laughed as he curled his arm a little tighter around Roxbury’s waist. “For someone who's the leader of the most powerful guild in the four lands, you’re obliviously adorable.”

Roxbury frowned. He was making fun of him, wasn’t he? “What does that mean?”

Zesiro, of course, didn’t answer him.

Finally reaching the top of the stairs, they found themselves in a narrow and small room, completely surrounded by walls. They seemed to have reached a dead-end of some sort. But Zesiro walked straight over to a wall and after a quick inspection, pushed at it. The sound was faint, but Roxbury could hear a soft metallic noise.

That wall must be able to pivot open, allowing for a short cut.

Zesiro opened it enough to slip through. Roxbury waited silently for Zesiro to give the all clear, finding himself not hesitating for a second when Zesiro offered him a hand to help him through the gap. He gripped the handle of his ‘borrowed’ driveblade tightly as he stepped out into the becoming familiar red splattered walls.

As Zesiro helped Kalan through the gap in the wall, Roxbury glanced up and down the hallway and realised, with some surprise, that he had some idea where they were.

“You were right,” he said. They were in the centre of the floor above.

“What can I say? I'm a man of many talents,” Zesiro said smugly as he pushed the pivoting bookcase back into place.

“Are any of those talents actually useful?” Kalan quipped as he flicked his hair casually over his shoulder.

“You know, you don't look it, but you're a sassy little bitch, aren't you?”

Funnily enough, Roxbury found their bickering somewhat reassuring as they quickly walked through the ominous corridors. They were nothing like the Imperials that had captured him, and they were nothing like the ones they shared the same appearance with.

“Get back,” Zesiro said as he suddenly turned around and all but lunged at Roxbury, pushing up back into a tight corner. “It’s that fucking sheep again.”

Roxbury abruptly found himself sandwiched between the two. Kalan was pushed up against his back, his arms folded across his stomach as he pressed his face between his shoulder blades. Zesiro was pushed up against Roxbury’s chest, his hands gripping at his upper arms as he attempted to shield him from that nightmarish FOE. His chin was practically resting against Roxbury’s forehead…

It was a little bit too…intimate.

When did he become so hyper-sensitive toward the man in front of him?

“Could you, ah, take a step back?” Roxbury requested. “You're uncomfortably close.”

“Am I?” If anything, Zesiro seemed to pull him closer.

What a stupid time to get embarrassed. “W-what are you doing?”

“Hm?” Zesiro murmured as he became nose to nose with him. “I was just curious why that brother of mine is so touchy-feely with that runemaster of his. I think I'm beginning to understand why.”

For some reason, Nitish’s words rung in his head. About how Imperials were afraid of a person’s touch. How they had never embraced another…it was a sad thought.

Wordlessly, and rather unexpectedly, Roxbury lifted a hand and gently touched the side of Zesiro’s face with his fingertips. Immediately a look of shock and surprise appeared on Zesiro’s face. Such a thing, to have an expression other than conceitedness and arrogance was an extraordinary feat, but Roxbury didn’t feel like rubbing it in.

“...Not every touch is deadly,” he murmured.

Zesiro’s hands unexpectedly tightened around him and his eyes seemed to soften. “...No.”

Roxbury’s hand dropped against Zesiro’s chest plate when Zesiro suddenly eliminated the distance between them by pulling him closer and moving his face closer to his. Inexplicably, Roxbury’s eyes shut on their own accord and he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. Zesiro’s lips, although rough and chapped, were surprisingly tender as they moved against his own.  
   
“I’m still here, assholes.”

Wait…what the hell was he doing?!

As Roxbury opened his eyes, shocked by his own actions, Kalan reached around him and clipped Zesiro up-side the head with his hand, causing the two to part abruptly. Blushing fiercely, Roxbury pushed himself out of Zesiro’s hold, allowing for Kalan to move in front of him, letting him wag a stern finger at Zesiro.

“Seriously?” Kalan questioned. “What the fuck? Can’t you control yourself?”

“I was perfectly in control, thank you,” Zesiro retorted.

“Take it outside at least.”

“What do you think I’ve been _trying_ to do?”

“Look, I know he’s adorable, but restrain yourself.”

“And let you get your claws into him? I don’t think so.”

Roxbury harshly rubbed his hands over his face. What the hell was wrong with him? Kissing a man who had played a great part in his kidnapping as they hid from a dangerous FOE in an overwhelming dangerous labyrinth? Not to mention trying to outrun his no doubt murderous kidnappers!

…He had been trapped in this god forsaken maze for way too long. He was starting to lose his mind.

“Whatever,” Kalan muttered. “The thing’s gone now. Let’s go.”

“R-right,” Roxbury stuttered, unable to look in Zesiro’s direction as they slipped into the hallway that ram-like FOE had wandered.

“You know, you’re just the bait,” Zesiro unexpectedly said to him.

Roxbury frowned as he turned toward Zesiro, the three of them momentarily pausing in their steps. “Bait for who?”

“Who do you think?” Zesiro practically scoffed. “The leader of the strongest guild in the four lands being kidnapped by a group of rogue imperials? Who would want to take care of this little problem? His highness and those loyal to him, of course.”

Roxbury’s eyebrows rose up toward his hairline in shocked realisation. “They’re trying to lure Baldur here?”

“I see,” Kalan spat. “Then I am merely a dead weight.”

Roxbury turned to the brown-haired runemaster and found himself frowning deeply. “What do you mean?”

“You and Achyuta get along well, right? Two like-minded individuals,” Zesiro provided. “You do know the person Achyuta left behind while protecting that runemaster of his, right?”

“I see…” Roxbury muttered as he found himself frowning again. “What about this nonsense about being a teacher?”

“To ensure your compliance.”

Exactly what he had suspected all along.

“I figured as much,” Roxbury said as he lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “To be honest, I was sceptical the moment we entered this place.”

They were hoping that once he laid eyes on Kalan, noticing his likeness to Nitish and learnt that he was going to be teaching children, that he would tag along and be submissive in order not to bring the children into any danger. Those Imperial bastards had the whole thing planned out well.

Dropping his hand from his face, Roxbury turned to look at Zesiro again. He couldn’t help but noticed that there was a sense of admiration in Zesiro’s voice when he spoke his brother’s name.

“You don’t hate Achyuta, do you?” he asked him quietly.

Zesiro seemed to scoff at the very suggestion. “Of course I don’t.”

Roxbury quirked his head to the side. “The hostility?”

“She’s the one who hates him,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Roxbury knew he was up to something. “I see. Anyone friends with Achyuta are her enemy.”

“Technically speaking, anyone who doesn’t follow her beliefs is an enemy,” Zesiro added as a smirk appeared on his lips. “But she does hate him the most.”

Roxbury nodded his head. That made sense. “It’s probably because he chose to save Nitish instead of following her orders, swayed Logre into fighting for their emperor’s belief and won against the titan with an guild full of outsiders.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Zesiro said as his grin turned more sadistic, seemingly finding amusement in the way his twin defied Neolani and her beliefs. “That would have definitely pissed her off.”

“There you are, you loathsome little bastards.”

Roxbury tensed while Zesiro winced as he glanced over his shoulder. “Speaking of pissed off.”


	18. Chapter 18

As soon as the airship Espiritu was close enough to the Echoing Library, Varuna grabbed a rope and leapt over the side of the gondola, landing heavily on a stone balcony and quickly tied the rope to a place that will ensure that their airship would stay secured moored until they returned.

After ensuring that their airship was in no threat of crashing into the building, Bryce locked the wheel in place and quickly joined Varuna, he, too leaping over the side. They shared a quick glance before wordlessly turning to the labyrinth’s entrance and racing inside.

They needed to move as quickly as they could. They had to travel through two floors and there was no guarantee that the first spot they checked would hold the waterlilies they desperately needed. There were only three places in the entire labyrinth that grew waterlilies. They could get their hands on at least one, surely.

No, they had to. For Kirjonen’s sake!

“The Waterlily leaves are found in several places,” Varuna said as he and Bryce bypassed the first floor completely with the thanks of a well-placed shortcut and raced down the stairs. “We’ll obviously head to the closest first.”

“Right,” Bryce said as he kept a firm grip on his sword, ready and willing to draw it at a moment’s notice. “You get the waterlilies and I’ll look out for monsters.”

Varuna absentmindedly tightened his hand on his knapsack, mentally going over what he needed to do when he found a waterlily leaf to ensure that it stayed fresh enough until they reached the Forgotten Capital. “Right.”

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, they quickly barrelled through another shortcut and raced toward a door that was situated at the end of a northern pathway. However, as they drew closer to the door, there appeared to be something in their way.

…Shit. It wasn’t a monster or FOE. That would have been too easy.

It was a fucking Imperial. And they appeared to be standing directly in front of the door.

“Who the hell are you?” Bryce asked harshly as they reluctantly skidded to a stop and he drew his sword, gripping it tightly with both hands.

The lone Imperial didn’t answer. Instead, they straightened their shoulders into a more intimidating stance. It also appeared as if they weren’t going to move an inch from where they were standing. Unfortunately, where they were standing was where Varuna and Bryce really, really needed to go.

What should they do?

“I have a solution,” Bryce suddenly said as he kept his gaze on the imperial.

“And what's that?” Varuna asked as he tightened his grip on the handles of his blades.

“Let's beat the shit out of them!”

Varuna felt his eye twitch. He really should have expected that. “That's your 'solution' to everything.”

Bryce gave a slight shrug. “Worked so far, right?”

“…Can't argue with that, I suppose,” Varuna muttered before unsheathing his blades in two quick, fluent movements and straightened his posture, ready for battle.

“L-let’s not be hasty!” the Imperial unexpectedly shrieked at them, flailing their hands about in front of them.

Their reaction was surprising and startling, pulling both Varuna and Bryce to an abrupt pause. They shared a quick glance, not entirely sure of what to make of the Imperial in front of them or how to proceed. They needed to get around them, though. One way or another.

“Why are you getting in our way?” Bryce asked as he turned to give the black-armoured knight a terse look.

The Imperial (they couldn’t tell if they were male or female and, frankly, they didn’t care to learn) seemed to compose themselves, straightening their posture into a more stately stance. “I have orders to confront the Phaedron guild should they enter any of the labyrinths of the Cloudy Stronghold,” they explained with authority in their voice.

Varuna furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“Orders.”

“Yes,” Varuna muttered as he rolled his eyes. “But why were the orders given?”

Imperial became silent for a moment. “…Orders?”

Varuna and Bryce sighed and turned to each other, both of them stating at the same time, in an exasperated manner, “Puppet.”

“H-hey!” the Imperial squawked out with a sense of indignity. “Imperials take orders, ok?! It’s what we’re trained to do!”

Varuna found himself rolling his eyes yet again. “That still makes you a puppet,” he retorted.

“You like orders, huh?” Bryce muttered as he took an imposing step forward. “How about I order you to get the fuck out of our way?”

Despite the helmet, Varuna could tell that the Imperial was staring at Bryce, seemingly trying to assess the seriousness of the situation. They then looked over at Varuna, pausing on him for a moment before quickly turning back to look at Bryce.

After a bit of back and forth, the Imperial seemed to shudder and take a step back. “…That could work.”

Varuna was automatically suspicious of their compliance, but didn’t have much time to dwell on it. They still needed to get the waterlily leaf, get out and sail to the Forgotten Capital. The Imperial in front of them had stalled enough already.

“If you go after our airship, I will come after you,” Varuna warned in a threatening tone as he and Bryce rushed past.

The Imperial shuddered, their armour actually clinking from the action. “O-oh?”

Throwing open the doors, heedless of what could await them on the other side, they sprinted up the narrow corridor before taking a sharp left turn. They barely paused until they reached a small nook amongst the books and wisteria.

Immediately dropping to his knees in front of the mossy covered ground, Varuna dug around desperately as Bryce stood guard, cautiously looking out for any threat. Monster or otherwise. After a few seconds of pushing aside the numerous white apples, his fingertips brushed over something…

A waterlily.

Yes! Three of them! More chances to ensure that Kirjonen got the best ingredients for the antidote.

Leaving the waterlilies where they were for the moment, Varuna rummaged through his knapsack and pulled out three speciesism containers. Carefully, he picked up the entire plant, flower, leaf and root. He couldn’t afford to be sloppy. Leaving it in one piece was the best thing he could possibly do.

“Well?” Bryce asked him.

“Three of them,” Varuna answered as he stowed the waterlilies carefully into his bag, ensuring that they wouldn’t be damaged during their race back to Espiritu. He then lifted his bag over his shoulder and kept it close to him, purposely hiding it beneath his cloak. “Let’s go.”

When they retraced their path, they found the Imperial knight crouched on the ground, seemingly toying with a piece of wisteria root. They certainly didn’t look as imposing when they first encountered them. In fact, they now looked feeble and a little bit childish.

“Why did I have to get those two…?” the Imperial muttered. “By _myself,_ no less. Stupidly strong explorers. Avoid those two at all costs, they said. But noooo. I had to find them. I’m not getting paid enough for this…”

“We have a reputation with the Imperials, huh?” Bryce, seemingly, couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Ehh?!” the Imperial shrieked as they leapt to their feet, cowering up against one of the many bookcases. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

Bryce arched an eyebrow while Varuna looked puzzled.

What an odd Imperial…

Were there other Imperials that were sent to the many other locations around the Cloudy Stronghold? If so, then that meant the rest of their guild would face their own resistance. Varuna could only hope that the Imperials they faced were as…inadequate as the one he and Bryce came across.

“Never mind,” Varuna said as he nudged Bryce along. “Let’s go. We have more important things to do.”

“Right.”

A few foolish monsters tried to get in their way during their dash back upstairs, but they were mercilessly disposed of. And, quite frankly, if another Imperial tried to do the same, they would have been treated in the same manner.

In a matter of minutes, they returned to Espiritu. And in a matter of seconds, they were in the air.

“Do you think Roxbury’s all right?” Varuna couldn’t help but ask aloud as they headed off toward the Forgotten Capital.

He-they weren’t used to running around without the supportive presence of their leader. He could ensure that Kirjonen would be fine and he trusted the Tharsis guards to find Ciaran, but Roxbury…he was in the middle of danger. He…

“We have to keep going believing that he is,” Bryce replied as he kept his eyes focused on the horizon in front of him.

Bryce was right. They couldn’t stop to think and fret. They had to keep going, believing that everyone would do their part to their utmost ability. They were all going to be reunited and they were all going to safe. Roxbury, Kirjonen, Ciaran…everyone was going be ok.

He…truly believed that.

He had to.

… … … … …

It was only with partial relief that Falkner moored Duscha at the Forgotten Capital. The flight through the lands wasn’t easy. He had to be more cautious that usual due to a precious cargo. But he also had to move quicker, too. He certainly pushed the ol’ girl to her limits.

It had to be done.

After locking the steering in place, Falkner ducked down into the hull of Duscha and paused halfway down the steps to check up on everyone. In the cot in the corner was Kirjonen; breathless, pale and unconscious. Isiah was crouched next to him, his hand checking his pulse once more. From the tightness of his lips, Kirjonen’s pulse was becoming alarming.

In the other corner, kneeling on the floor with an array of books scattered about, was Nitish. He was carefully checking his crafting equipment, going over everything he would need to do once he received the materials needed for the antidote. On his lap, however, was Zoran. The tiny vessel grew tired from using his Sleep Circle on Kirjonen to keep him comfortable and was getting some rest himself.

Mahalah was watching over them all, his expression drained, his presence anxiety ridden. He hadn’t gotten any rest. It was no surprise.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Falkner said.

“Be careful, Falkner,” Mahalah said to him as he turned to look at him, his voice strained with worry.

“I’ll be fine,” Falkner reassured with a grin. “I’ll have the materials, too.”

Racing back up the stairs, Falkner grabbed a knapsack for the materials and his bow in case he met any resistance of monsters. Using a rope from the rigging, he swung over the side, relieved to see that when he sent Telem and Durriken to tie the Duscha in a secure location, they did just that.

“Let’s go, you two,” Falkner ordered before racing over toward the seal encrusted door.

He took a moment to remember how absurdly annoying it was for him and his guild to remove the seal from the door from what seemed like so long ago. Thanks to their effort, however, the door could be opened at any time, by anyone.

Moving past the door, they headed in an easterly direction, into a strangely shaped room that once held a FOE called Rafflesia, a monster that gave them a bit of trouble when they first entered this place. Spitting out that sticky goo at them, causing them to become stuck in place. Thankfully, there were too many of them for the FOE to keep track off and Achyuta, working in conjunction with Logre was able to pretty much destroy it quite easily.

Thankfully, another hadn’t crawled up from who knows where to take its place.

Thinking back on it, at the time the entire guild was so riled by the possible creation of the Yggdrasil Titan that nothing would have gotten in their way. Together, they were unstoppable. So…it made sense that the rogue Imperials would go to such lengths to separate them.

Still…several pissed off guildmates running around, ready to destroy anything in their path was probably more dangerous than when they were in one large group.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Falkner directed his question toward Telem, whom was running alongside with Durriken a few steps at the back.

“What?”

“Staking out the inn,” Falkner said, indicating to the first time they actually spoke face to face. “Were you actually protecting it?”

Telem glanced at him from the corner of his eye before focusing forward again. “…Maybe.”

“…Fine,” Durriken said with a loud sigh. “The truth is that the extremists had their eyes on your leader for quite some time. However, we couldn’t allow them to act as we were certain that they would handle your leader roughly. We needed to bide time for Zesiro to act.”

“Zesiro?” Falkner questioned as they momentarily paused to push open a door. “You guys are working together?”

Telem rolled his wrist in a somewhat offhand motion. “In a sense.”

“So Achyuta’s twin is actually…there to protect Roxbury?” Falkner reiterated slowly.

Telem nodded his head and folded his arms over his chest. “That is what he is hoping to do.”

Falkner couldn’t help but chuckle at the seeming karma of it all as they moved past the doors. “Pft, just like Achyuta…”

They had to tread more cautiously. The paths in this area of the labyrinth were narrow and without walls. Should they encounter any trouble, a misstep could mean a quick drop into the deep roots of the Yggdrasil tree far below.

“Do you know how they resurrected the Sand Leviathan?” Falkner questioned as they slowed their pace. “It was with a book, right? Was that what you were looking for?”

The expression on Durriken’s face turned dark. “Yes. That book. It’s far too dangerous to be in idle hands.”

“What are the Imperials planning to do with it?” Falkner asked, although he was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

Telem, too, seemed to know. “I’m sure you already have your own suspicions.”

So they were trying to resurrect the Titan, huh? Falkner pressed his lips together tightly. “Yeah…”

Telem suddenly narrowed his eyes into a fearsome glare and revealed several of his throwing knives, facing toward Falkner. The knives seemed to glint under the light as he pulled himself into a ready for battle stance.

“Eh?” Falkner stuttered, startled by the abrupt hostility.

However, Telem didn’t seem to be looking at _him_ directly. “Duck.”

Falkner didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately ducked down, barely registering the sound of the knives cutting through the air inches above his head. He did, however, hear the metal clang when the knives struck something.

He immediately glanced in the direction of the noise and found himself gritting his teeth in annoyance. Thanks to Telem’s knives, he revealed an Imperial knight that had been standing in the shadows, seeming waiting for them. It didn’t take him long to realise that they weren’t alone.

There was a band of them. Four of them. Of Imperial Knights. And Falkner was fairly certain they weren’t around to help.

“What are you doing here?” Falkner all but demanded as he withdrew his bow, immediately setting an arrow in place.

“Get back,” Telem hissed as he moved to stand in front of him, revealing yet more knives. “They’re supporters.”

Even though the Imperial was wearing a helmet, it was easy to sense their annoyance that was directed as both Telem and Durriken. “We don’t know what materials you are after, but you won’t get any here.”

Falkner felt his stomach clench with disbelief and anger as he glanced over in the direction the take point was to be found. Instead he saw a small crater that was blacken and charred. “You destroyed the take point?!”

He didn’t need to see the Imperial’s face to know that they were smirking. “Perhaps.”

Those bastards!

Argh, fine…there were two more take points that he knew off. Before they could be reached, though, they needed to get rid of their ‘welcoming party’.

“Very well,” Durriken murmured as he raised a hand into the air. “Galvanic Rune!”

As streaks of lightning rained down from the sky, Telem hunched his posture slightly before darting forward at amazing speed, immediately engaging with an imperial that barely had enough time to lift his weapon.

Crouching on the ground, Falkner immediately fired off a magnitude of arrows. Leg Snipe, Arm Snipe, Head Snipe. Anything that would get past the imperials’ defences. Their powerful armour of their really was a nuisance.

During the foray, Telem and Durriken managed to engage with three of them, cornering them, however one had slipped around the back and headed straight toward Falkner. And despite the arrows that Falkner kept firing at them, they kept coming.

They seemed to have taken a dislike toward him especially.

Why weren’t they waving their driveblade around, though, throwing out elemental attacks at him? Was it because they, too, knew how fragile the hanging pathway was beneath their feet? Or were they…trying to force him over the side? Or hoping to use him as a hostage?

Argh, fine! He wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.

The second the Imperial was close enough, he lashed out with his leg and managed to kick the Imperial at their knee, causing their stance to buckle. Not much, but enough for them to try to lunge at Falkner, to pull them both off balance and toward the edge of the path.

What happened after that was a bit of a blur. Falkner, however, was somehow able to snag a hold of the pathway with his right hand, preventing himself from falling. His quick reaction was most likely due to being crouched closer to the ground than the imperial was. He was hanging by one arm, though, so he wasn’t exactly in the best position to be in.

There were worst places to be however. Like the Imperial, who wasn’t as lucky. Thanks largely to the impracticality of their armour they weren’t as nimble as Falkner was, so they weren’t able to save themselves. While Falkner couldn’t see where they landed, due to the shadows of the ruins, he heard the rather telling thud and couldn’t help but wince.

…One less Imperial to worry about.

He just had himself to worry about at the moment. He was glad that his desperate plan worked; he just needed to ensure that he lived to tell the tale. Moving cautiously, he managed to toss up his bow onto the path, but he could feel that the stone pavement he was hanging onto was starting to crumble. He needed help. Fast!

W-where was Telem and Durriken? They wouldn’t abandon him now, right?

Before he could shout for some help, his grip weakened and the pavement crumbled, sending him plummeting to god knows where below!

Instinctively, Falkner closed his eyes and waited with a sense of surrealism.

His fall, however, was abruptly halted when something snared his wrist in a tight grip. Snapping open his eyes, Falkner tilted his head back and noticed that a hand had managed to grab his wrist. And that hand belonged to none other than Telem.

Relief couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt upon seeing that stoic nightseeker looking down at him as he held onto his wrist tightly, the other gripping at the stone ledge.

Wasting no time, Falkner reached up with his hand other to grasp onto Telem’s arm, ensuring a more secure hold. After a bit of struggle, Telem was able to pull him up enough so that Falkner could get a hand hold on the stone path with one hand while the other continued to hold onto Telem’s. Then, with one last tug from Telem, Falkner was back up on the pathway of the Forgotten Capital and safe.

Resting on a solid piece of the hanging pathway, Falkner breathed out a sigh of relief. That was a little too close for comfort.

Turning his attention to the stoic nightseeker, Telem unexpectedly silenced him by raising his hand, his fingers gently touching the side of his face while his thumb ran over his bottom lip almost tenderly. Falkner was so surprised by his actions that he almost didn’t feel the slight sting of pain radiate from his lip.

“You’re surprisingly reckless for a sniper,” Telem said as he pulled back his hand, revealing a smudge of blood on his thumb.

Subconsciously, Falkner licked his bottom lip, grimacing slightly when he realised that he must have cut it somehow during that short tangle with that Imperial. He felt a small sense of guilt wash over him, knowing that the Imperial most likely didn’t survive the fall, but he had to reason with himself. They were trying to stop them by any means. It had to be done.

Speaking of which…

“What happened to the rest?” Falkner asked as he looked around, realising that he could no longer hear the sounds of battle.

The corners of Telem’s lips twitched into a smirk. “They’ve been taken care of,” he said as he motioned with a tilt of his head in a northerly direction.

Following Telem’s gaze, Falkner was surprised, yet relieved to see that the band of Imperials were all sprawled out on the ground, some twitching slightly, one hanging precariously over the side of the hanging pathway. All of them unmoving.

Falkner was so glad that Telem and Durriken were on his side.

“Come,” Telem said as he held out his hand toward Falkner. “We must hurry. There are two more places that could hold Valerian.”  
   
“Should we leave them?” Falkner questioned as he took Telem’s hand and allowed him to pull him to his feet. He then looked at the Imperials once more, unaware that he was still grasping onto Telem’s hand. “They may turn their focus-”

Telem abruptly cut him off by showing a throwing knife. “Nerve agent. They aren’t going anywhere.”

“I’ll stay here to make sure,” Durriken suddenly said as he moved to stand guard over the Imperials.

Telem seemed surprised by Durriken’s offering. “Hm?” he murmured as he dropped his hold on Falkner’s hand.

Durriken glanced over his shoulder and seemed to smirk at him. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your fun,” he said.

Falkner wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but he didn’t have time to think about it. The Imperials had already slowed them down enough. They had to move onward. Quickly.

“You gather what you need,” Telem said to Falkner as they headed toward another take spot. “I’ll protect you from the monsters.”

“Right.”

… … … … …

As Roxbury turned to give his full attention to the imposing Neolani, he couldn’t say he was all that surprised to see her.

She wasn’t alone. Elder Jerimoth was standing behind her, clutching a book close to his chest and looking absolutely furious. However, she didn’t have as many cohorts as she did at the beginning of the whole ordeal. She probably left a few behind in order to get her revenge against Zesiro and Kalan for betraying her.

As she drew closer, Neolani unexpected paused in her steps, her eyes widening as she blatantly stared at Zesiro. “…Achyuta?” she murmured.

Plastering a grin that could only be described as sadistically amused, Zesiro turned to face the blonde-haired woman and regarded her in a far too gleeful and casual manner. “Not quite. I’m actually the hotter, more mysterious older twin. Hadn’t a clue, right? How’s that for a slap in the face?”

“That can’t be…” Neolani muttered, not appearing remotely convinced that the man before her was not Achyuta.

Roxbury couldn’t say he was surprised by her reaction. Under the dim lighting, Zesiro would look exactly like Achyuta. Completely different personalities, though. Not that she would care much. He looked like Achyuta; therefore, he was to be treated with hatred and distain.

She probably saw Achyuta’s face everywhere.

“Yep, I’m afraid so,” Zesiro joyfully returned before mockingly perking up. “Wow, two guys who preferred to help the hostage over you. Quite a blow to the ego, right? Have you thought that; maybe, it’s _you_ that’s the problem?”

The shock and disbelief on Neolani’s face quickly disappeared, turning into an expression of utter hatred and fury. She was virtually seething in her armour. If looks could kill…

Quietly, Zesiro reached out to purposely push Roxbury behind him, standing in such a way that ensured that he got the hostile attention instead. He was purposely riling her up so that she would focus completely on him.

“It's best you stay behind me,” he muttered to him, his voice serious despite the mocking joviality of his expression. “You don't have your armour. You won't be able to defend yourself.”

Roxbury felt torn. Stay at the back and be protected? He wasn't used to that…but he was right.

“You...” Neolani spat as she tightened her grip on her driveblade. “You're just like your so-called brother.”

“I like to think I'm more mysterious and handsome, to be honest,” Zesiro quickly retorted, revealing that he wasn’t remotely intimidated by her.

Neolani took a slow step forward. “Just as fucking annoying.”

“Now now,” Zesiro said as he wagged a finger at her. “The future leader of the Cloudy Stronghold shouldn't be cursing. It's undignified.”

Roxbury felt both puzzled and concerned. Future leader? Were they hoping to use him as bait to lure Bladur into an ambush so they could…get rid of him?

No. He couldn’t let that happen!

Somehow, Neolani’s expression darkened further. “What did you just say?”

For a moment Zesiro looked mockingly confused, scrunching up his nose and making a thoughtful hum. He, however, soon perked up once again. “...Oh! I see. Achyuta called you undignified, too, did he? Well, we are twins, after all.”

Ooh boy…he was really, really pissing her off.

Something from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Glancing over, Roxbury was alarmed to see another Imperial with their driveblade in hand, seemingly ready to be used as a moment’s notice. And they were running.

However, they weren’t exactly heading toward him. No. They were leading one of those nightmarish rams in their direction. And with them in view, the Imperial ducked into a dark corner, out of sight. Which meant…

No…it was heading straight for Zesiro!

It was purely instinct that made Roxbury move. That made him push at Zesiro’s back. That made him stand where Zesiro once stood.

It happened too quickly. He…he was struck instead…

And everything went black for a second. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see. The pain…it was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“-idiot!” Zesiro yelled at him when he came to his senses. Roxbury then found himself gasping desperately for air when Zesiro unexpectedly scooped him haphazardly off the floor, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have your fucking armour!”

Coughing harshly to get air back into his lungs, Roxbury felt the bitter, metallic tang of blood in his mouth and he swallowed thickly. His vision was quickly starting to go blurry, the pain, however, was starting to lessen; along with all his senses…he was going into shock.

Not having the faintest idea what was going on around him, Roxbury felt Zesiro carry him some distance before he lowered him gently to the floor. He kept an arm around his shoulders, though, as he knelt next to him, holding him close against him. That FOE, the murderous Neolani…he hadn’t a clue where they were or what they were doing. All he could do, all he could focus on was trying to breath normally.

“Medicas can only be temporary,” Kalan said suddenly as he used his runic magic to create a temporary barrier of ice around them. “He needs a medic.”

“I know,” Zesiro bit back sharply.

Strange, Roxbury thought as he blearily looked up at Zesiro. Was that genuine emotion in Zesiro’s face and voice? Was he angry because Roxbury had gotten hurt yet again and was going to seriously impede their escape plan? Or was he furious because Roxbury had taken an attack that was meant for him instead?

“I’m not in the mood to deal with your shit right now,” Zesiro growled fearsomely as he looked away from Roxbury at the sound of someone breaking their way through the icy barrier.

Zesiro truly sounded angry.

“I was going to sacrifice you to this so-called Yggdrasil saviour,” Neolani said as she slowly walked through the shattered remains of the wall of ice Kalan created. “But I think I’ll kill you all instead!”

Roxbury coughed, too disorientated to feel any fear toward her. “She’s gone mad…”

“She’s not mad,” Zesiro hissed as he reached for his driveblade. “She’s fucking insane!”

“Zesiro,” Kalan unexpectedly said, his voice low and serious.

Zesiro paused momentarily to look over his shoulder at Kalan, the brown-haired runemaster looking as stoic and silent as usual. But his eyes, though hazy from his apparent blindness, seemed to have taken on a sharper sheen. He looked focused and silently furious.

“Right. Here,” Zesiro said as he…

He…exchanged his driveblade for a bottle of medica?

“Why don’t I mix a bit of Galvanic Rune with a little ol’ Shock Drive,” Kalan said walked fearlessly toward the group of Imperials and raised the driveblade high over his head.

Suddenly, the air around them electrified, crackling with an intensity that pulled the air from your lungs. Just as Kalan brought the driveblade down in a sweeping motion, Zesiro turned his back toward him, clutching Roxbury tighter to physically shield him with his own body.

A split second after that there was a loud explosion, which was quickly followed by a rumbling that made the walls and floors around them tremble and creak. Even the air around them seemed to quiver from the intensity.

When Zesiro turned them back toward the action, Roxbury realised that everyone that Kalan had directed the attacks at had been flung backwards, slamming into the red covered walls behind them with a loud and painful crash. Even Elder Jerimoth was thrown off of his feet, and he was well away from the battle field.

If Roxbury was stunned by what he had just witnessed, the Imperials that were slumped against the walls in a stupor must be traumatized!

“Hm?” Kalan murmured as he stood in the middle of the crackling sparks of electricity that continued to sizzle around them and effortlessly rested the driveblade upon his shoulder, granting the gaping Imperials an expression that was somewhat haughty.

“Shocked that I, a fragile and blind as a bat runemaster, can wield a driveblade?” he questioned, though leaving no room for anyone to actually answer. “It just so happens that my runic powers greatly enhances the elemental capabilities of a driveblade. Didn’t you know that?”

He…had no idea.

With Neolani and her cohorts distracted, Zesiro popped open the bottle of medica with his teeth, spitting out the cork before sculling the entire bottle himself. He didn’t drink it, though. Roxbury knew immediately what he was going to do and, for whatever reason, didn’t seem to mind.

He parted his lips, lifting his chin up slightly and watched as Zesiro lowered his head down toward him. With Zesiro’s mouth against his once again, Roxbury closed his eyes and allowed him to feed him the medicine. He…didn’t really have the energy to hold the bottle and drink it himself.

After gently feeding him the medicine a bit at a time, waiting for him to swallow, Zesiro finally removed his mouth from him. Zesiro then ran his tongue over his lips before he pulled back, and Roxbury drew in a sharp intake of air as he waited for the potion to work.

The pain was still there, but it had lessened. He, however, was feeling alarmingly tired.

Zesiro then carefully shifted Roxbury, slipping one arm around his shoulders, the other slipping under his knees. Then in one fluent movement, he picked Roxbury up off the ground and into his arms, effortlessly holding him against his chest like he weighed next to nothing as he stood tall. Too shocked and hurt to move, Roxbury simply rested his head against Zesiro’s shoulder. The hard armour wasn’t comfortable, but it was marginally better than the floor.

But…what were they going to do now? Kalan couldn’t take them all on by himself, could he?

“Z-Zesiro?”

“It’ll be fine,” Zesiro said as he glared in the direction of Neolani and those seemingly loyal to her. “We just need to bide some time.”

Bide their time for what?

“But, never mind that now,” Kalan suddenly and unexpectedly said as he lifted the driveblade from his shoulder and casually flicking a switch, cooling the blade down from overheating. “It is not I that you have to worry about. He’s coming. And he’s pissed.”

…Who was coming?

“I must admit that your plan seemed flawless,” Kalan continued as he stabbed the tip of the driveblade into the stone flooring and brushed his hair over his shoulder, much like what Neolani had done several times previously.

“Naturally,” Neolani automatically simpered in response, but her voice didn’t hold as much bite as it usually did. She sounded somewhat suspicious and frustrated.

Kalan, however, continued to look unimpressed. “But there is a slight flaw.”

“Oh?” Neolani coolly retorted, having regain back some of her confidence. “And what would that be?”

Kalan gave her a completely blasé look, even going as far as to wave his hand dismissively at her, indicating that if she couldn’t see it, he wasn’t going to inform her of it.

“Heh, I get it,” Zesiro muttered as a smirk slipped across his lips. “Yeah, they don't necessarily play by the rules. Especially not by your rules.”

…Who-?

“Roxbury!”

T-that voice? Achyuta?

A mere second after that, a large hulking shadow appeared, landing with a loud thud near the edge of the battlefield, behind where Zesiro was standing. Instead of whipping around to face the possible threat as it claws scraped across the floor as it drew closer, Zesiro simply smirked as he tightened his hold around Roxbury a bit more.

Tilting his head back to look over Zesiro’s shoulder, Roxbury felt an incredibly overwhelming sense of relief when he recognised the purple-furred bushi. Biast…he must have used he senses to locate him. He seemed to be slightly hunched over, though, like he did whenever he was carrying Zoran on his shoulder. However, instead of the tiny vessel, the one on his shoulder was…

Baldur?

“About time you losers showed up,” Zesiro said casually over his shoulder as three more armoured warriors gathered around, their driveblades pulled into defensive positions.

“Roxbury?”

“A-Achyuta…?” Roxbury coughed, feebly reaching out a hand toward Achyuta as he appeared before him, grabbing a hold of his hand and frantically looking over him with an expression of concern on his face. “N-no, get Baldur away from here…”

“No, I’m staying,” Baldur said as he whirled around to face Neolani and Elder Jerimoth, giving them both a scathing glare as Biast drew to his full height and Logre and Xander stood on either side of him. “I think it’s about time I learn what the hell is going on here.”

B-but…was he really ready to hear the truth?


	19. Chapter 19

Stepping foot inside the building called Windy Archives, one of the first things that greeted Blayden and his team was the sight of purple petals gently flowing in a southerly direction. They looked peaceful, majestic even. He knew not to be fooled, though. Those winds were powerful. Bryce warned him not to be complacent. They would easily knock you off of your feet, sending you in the direction the wind was blowing.

Wiglaf whistled, somewhat impressed by the sight of the bookcases draped with wisteria. “I see why they call it Windy Archives,” she said as she looked around. “Lucky I’m not into skirts and dresses.”

“Bryce warned us that this place will be hard to navigate,” Blayden muttered, feeling tense and uneasy.

“Falkner gave me a map,” Fletcher said as he pulled out a roll of parchment and unfurled it. “Should make is a little bit easier, right?”

Glancing down at the map, Blayden immediately noticed that there was a symbol of where they could gather materials a few feet in front of them. Unfortunately, it was right in the middle of the wind currents so they couldn’t just walk up to it.

Of course not. That would be too easy.

“There’s a take point right in front of us,” Blayden said as he looked to the east, visually laying his eyes on the gathering spot. “We can’t get to it without going to long way. Damn it.”

Fletcher kept studying the map, trailing his finger along a possible route to get where they needed to be. “We’ll have to go through this door, and then this door and – should we check both take points or go for the one?”

“Both,” Blayden immediately said as he shifted on his feet, feeling antsy to get going and get to work. “We can’t be sloppy here.”

No, they couldn’t afford to be complacent. Kirjonen was relying on them to get the materials needed for the potion to save his life. Blayden may not have as much experience travelling the dangerous labyrinths and all the hazards that accompanied them as his brother or Varuna, but he wasn’t going to fail.

Moving through the door that was located just south of the entrance, they came across their first obstacle. One of many, it seemed. A fast moving column of air. They won’t be able to simply step across. They needed to pull themselves across.

Now what was it that Bryce told him to do…? Oh yeah!

“Use the railing to pull yourself across,” Blayden instructed as he strode forward to get the lead. “That’s what Bryce told me.”

“Seems like a plan,” Wiglaf said as she timidly moved toward the column of wind.

Despite all of Bryce’s warnings, Blayden still wasn’t prepared for how strong the wind really was. If he had stepped out into the stream right where he first encountered it, he would have thrown off his feet, pushed across the floor before slamming up against the railing!

Being the first to cross the current of wind, Blayden immediately turned around and offered his arm to the next person. With a bit of effort, and strength that he had built thanks to his training with Roxbury earlier, he was able to pull Wigaf, Fletcher and Miach out of the wind into a safer location.

They weren’t out of the woods yet, so to speak. There were more wind currents to get through.

“Well, that certainly was a thing,” Wiglaf murmured as she lifted her hands to smooth down her hair. “So glad that I’m not into skirts.”

Bryce wasn’t exaggerating when he said the wind was powerful! If that sturdy railing wasn’t there, god knows where they could have been blown too. Lucky Zoran wasn’t with them. They might lose their precious arcanist.

“Hm…” Miach suddenly muttered as he turned to look along the path in front of them. His expression was airy as usual, but there was a sense of focus in his gaze. It something that Blayden had discovered from training with Miach. And whenever he had that look in his eye, he saw something significant.

“What?” Blayden prompted.

Miach didn’t budge an inch. “Company.”

“Eh?” Fletcher practically squeaked as he immediately spun around to look in the direction Miach was gazing in. “Where?”

As soon as that question past Fletcher’s lips, a heavily armoured Imperial stepped into view, moving to stand right in the centre of their path. The armour was blue, similar to that of Achyuta’s, but even with the helmet, they could see that the Imperial was female. Her long pink hair was peeking around her helmet.

Blayden couldn’t say he was surprised that Miach had spotted her first. Miach was, ah, unique. He appeared ditzy, airy and always traveling around in a dream-like state. And he truly was like that. However, he was also very, very observant. Isiah said that he had the unique ability to see what others could not. He didn’t mean in a psychic sense, though. He could see the significance in the mundane.

He was hyper-observant regarding certain matters while under-observant with others. Blayden wasn’t entire sure what that meant, but Isiah seemed to value his ability to accurately tell a person’s heart-rate and blood pressure.

They still needed to keep a tight rein on him so he didn’t wander off by himself, though.

Slowly, the Imperial in front of them lifted her arms and removed her helmet, her pink hair falling fully over her shoulders, revealing two pigtails. She then dropped the helmet to the floor with a loud clang, seemingly discarding it.

“Oh, Yesmina?” Wiglaf said, relief mixed with surprise in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

Yesmina, however, refused to look at them. Her gaze was downcast, off to the side as she interlocked and unlocked her fingers repeatedly in front of her. She seemed nervous, anxious really.

Why was she even here? How did she get here?

“Come on, Yesmina. Don’t be shy,” Wiglaf said as she took a step forward that was, at first confident, until Yesmina continued to avoid eye contact with her and she became hesitant. “You’re…here to help, right? Right?”

Wiglaf sound almost desperate. Blayden, however, was getting antsy and suspicious. After all, rogue Imperials were what got them into this mess. How did he know Yesmina wasn’t one of them? How could he know that she wasn’t going to use Wiglaf fondness toward her against them?

“She’s not the only one here,” Miach murmured, his voice low.

Blayden immediately drew his sword and he could hear Fletcher ready his bow behind him. “There are others?”

Miach made a slight humming noise before shaking his head. “Just one. No threat.”

Ok, that baffled Blayden somewhat. “Huh?”

After a few seconds of silent fidgeting, Yesmina finally lifted her head to look at them. “I’ve been given orders to stop you from travelling too far in the Cloudy Stronghold,” she unexpectedly stated.

Blayden felt himself become tense while Wiglaf stilled as a flicker of betrayal appeared in her gaze. “Why?”

Yesmina unexpectedly flinched and looked down at her hands. “…I’m n-not going to, though,” she said. “I take orders from Prince Baldur, not from Elder Jerimoth or Neolani.”

Blayden wasn’t sure who Elder Jerimoth was, but he had most certainly heard of Neolani. So she really was behind everything?

“Are you here to help us then?” Wiglaf asked. The relief in her voice was blatant. She must be really fond of this Imperial in front of them.

“In a way,” Yesmina said as she lifted her head, looking a little more confident. “I’m not here to stop you, but…they might be.”

Before anyone could react, Yesmina withdrew her driveblade from her back, spun on her heel and unleashed a fiery attack against a bookcase. Splinters of wood and flakes of paper seemed to explode into the air. And amongst it all, another heavily armoured Imperial appeared, scrambling out of the way of the attack to lean against the steel railing in surprise.

“Traitor,” the Imperial immediately accused as they spun around to face Yesmina. Although they were wearing a helmet, Blayden didn’t need to see their facial expressions to know that they were rather pissed off.

Yesmina tensed for a moment, but did not budge from her stance. “No,” she said. “I’m loyal to his highness, Prince Baldur. Unlike you.”

So that was the other person Miach saw.

“I never liked you,” the other Imperial hissed as they pointed their driveblade directly at Yesmina.

And, surprisingly, a fearsome expression appeared on Yesmina’s face. “I never liked you either.”

The two then lunged at each other, their blades clashing loudly, even sending out a spark or two due to their driveblades beginning to overheat.

“Yesmina!” Wiglaf called out in alarm.

“There’s a room on the other side of this wall,” Yesmina said as she continued to push against her opponent, forcing them up against the bookcase right behind them. “We can fight in there.”

“How are you-?”

Before Blayden could finish asking his question, Yesmina dug her heels in and with a low grunt of exertion, pushed the other heavily armoured Imperial through the bookcase. She promptly followed, disappearing completely from sight.

Wiglaf suddenly unsheathed her weapon and strode forward, her movements full of determination. “Blayden, you, Fletcher and Miach hurry inside and get the ingredients. I’ll stay here and ensure the entrance stays open with Yesmina.”

Oddly enough, Blayden couldn’t say he was surprised. He was worried, though. “You sure?”

Wiglaf nodded her head sharply once, indicating how serious she really was. “It’s time I repay the Phaedron Guild with a few skills of my own.”

Blayden felt a smile tug on his lips and he nodded his head in understanding. “We’ll be right back,” he promised.

“Have fun,” Fletcher grinned as the three of them moved toward the north facing door.

“Girl,” Wiglaf was heard saying as she sashayed to move through the opening to the other room. “It’s time to show me what you can do.”

Yesmina made a sound of acceptance and gratitude. “With pleasure!”

After passing through two more doors that allowed them move north of the wind, they quickly reached a point where all they needed to do was to ride the wind to another hallway, where one of the two gathering points could be found.

The first spot was easy to reach and to stand by to search for the materials needed, but all they could find were Hyacinth Petas. No Myrciara Fruit to be found.

The second spot was a few steps to the south, but directly in the path of the wind. It won’t be easy to gather the materials needed when you’re too busy trying to peel yourself off of the walls.

“Miach, you get the Myrciara Fruit,” Blayden said as he unsheathed his blade. “I’ll act as a prop to keep you away from the walls.”

“Kay,” Miach said readily, his expression as blissfully unaware as always. However, there was that glint of focus again.

Good.

“What do you want me to do?” Fletcher asked.

“Can Myrciara Fruit be found elsewhere?”

Fletcher furrowed his brows together in thought. “Uh…no, I don’t think so.”

“Then this is our last chance,” Blayden muttered. “Head to the entrance and wait for us.”

Fletcher looked ready to protest, but he kept quiet and nodded his head solemnly. He then approached the stream of air before crouching low to the ground and carefully skidded over the floor as he was being pushed by the wind. With a few quick manoeuvres, he was able to twist his way out of the wind and to a safer location.

Ok. It was his turn.

With an arm around Miach’s waist, Blayden stabbed his sword into the ground, hanging onto that tightly as they both skidded over the floor, toward the gathering point. He then planted his foot in the middle of a bookcase in order brace the two of them away from it, allowing Miach the chance to gather was what needed.

The wind was unfairly strong, though. He wasn’t sure if he could hold out for much longer…

“Got them,” Miach finally said as he clutched something tightly against his chest. “The Myrciara Fruit.”

Finally.

With a grunt, Blayden dislodged his sword from the ground, causing both he and Miach to slip across the floor. Fortunately, Fletcher was able to reach out to them, grabbing Miach first and pulling him to safety before promptly doing the same for Blayden. With a loud sigh, Blayden slumped to the floor and had to lean against a bookcase for a second to catch his breath. He was going to feel that tomorrow…

“You all right?” Fletcher asked him as he knelt next to him, blatant concern on his face.

“Fine,” Blayden muttered in response as he lifted his hand to his shoulder and rolled it, easing out the knots. He had always wondered by Bryce was always flexing his muscles and rolling his shoulders. He knew now.

“Noises have stopped,” Miach said as he carefully placed the Myrciara Fruit into a safe and protected place in his bag.

“Betcha Wiglaf and Yesmina won,” Blayden said as he heaved himself to his feet.

“No doubt,” Fletcher chided in.

Pushing away from the bookcase, Blayden looked through the swirling columns of flowers to see two figures slowly approach from the east. It was a relief (although, not much of a surprise) to see Wiglaf standing with Yesmina, the Imperial who had challenged them nowhere to be seen.

“Wiglaf!” Blayden yelled over the winds to the brown-haired dancer. “How you doing?”

Wiglaf immediately turned away from Yesmina to give him a smirk and a thumbs-up. “We’re good.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” Blayden practically commanded. “We still have to get to the Forgotten Capital.”

A serious expression immediately appeared on Wiglaf’s face and she nodded her head. “Let’s go, Yesmina,” she said as she lightly slapped the armoured woman’s shoulder.

Yesmina, however, looked hesitant. “Uh…”

“I’m sure the Phaedron Guild would give their thanks for your help,” Wiglaf said as she cocked her hips out to the side and winked at the pink-haired woman. “What do you say?”

Yesmina simply looked at Wiglaf for a long, drawn out moment before promptly blushing a light red, almost the same pink as her hair, and nodded her head rapidly. “O-ok.”

After a quick scramble for the airship docked outside, it was only a matter of what felt like seconds before they were in the air and heading north, to the Forgotten Capital.

“I hope Achyuta and Logre were able to find Roxbury,” Blayden couldn’t help but comment aloud as he looked up at the sky, noting that sunset was only a few hours away.

Expertly navigating through the stone ruins of the Cloudy Stronghold, Wiglaf glanced over her shoulder to the pink-haired imperial. “Can you offer us any insight Yesmina?”

“They’re…” she began, but trailed off for some reason. She stayed silent for a few seconds, nervously biting her lips together before frowning and glancing toward the north-western area. “Neolani isn’t going to be happy.”

“Neither is Achyuta,” Blayden said as he remembered how wound up Achyuta looked when he found out that Neolani was possibly the mastermind behind all the chaos. And he couldn’t help but smile. “And I’m putting all my money on him.”

“Hm…Yes,” Yesmina murmured as she continued to stare over the horizon. “Achyuta…is strong, isn’t he? I hope he can defeat her.”

If he didn’t…well, they’ll just have to sic Varuna after her, won’t they?

… … … … …

As an Imperial soldier, Achyuta knew that to have expectations before a battle or confrontation was considered ill-advised and a waste of mental resources. Even so, as he entered the dark, foreboding building of walls splattered red with dried blood and hallways that echoed with an unseen scurrying, he never imagined that he would find his friend and leader lying barely conscious in his (what had been previously hostile) twin brother’s arms.

His first concern was, of course, Roxbury. He looked as pale as he did after the attack from the Sand Leviathan.

He did notice, however, that there was a familiar blonde-haired Imperial standing a good few feet away, her driveblade held tightly in one hand as she glare furiously at him. However, he couldn’t help but notice a slight look of surprise on her face. It was either due to the fact that he didn’t immediately confront her, choosing to rush to Roxbury’s side instead. Or she was surprised to see that there was virtually two of him now.

Whatever the reason, he truly didn’t care. Although he may despise Neolani for all that she had done, he wasn’t in a blind fury. Neolani wasn’t a threat at the present time, so he was barely going to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her.

Focusing his full attention on Roxbury, Achyuta couldn’t help but feel alarmed by how weakly Roxbury was holding onto his hand. Roxbury always had a strong grip. Not a crushing one, but a firm one nonetheless. After everything that happened…he was probably just so tired of it all.

Silently checking Roxbury over with his eyes, Achyuta quickly noting that he had received some kind of medical treatment. He could smell the familiar scent of medica in the air. It, however, wasn’t enough. Whatever had happened to Roxbury, whatever they did to him, he needed stronger medical assistance. He needed to be treated by Isiah. And quickly.

Getting out, however, won’t be easy as the hallways were narrow and winding. Thankfully, before he left Nitish had the hindsight (as usual) to gift him a bottle of his strongest medicine to date. Medicine he knew would work without any side-effects.

Medicine Roxbury needed.

Reluctantly relinquishing his hold on Roxbury’s hand, gently placing it to rest against his stomach, Achyuta quickly pulled out a small bag containing a single bottle from underneath his armour. He removed the bottle and immediately uncorked it.

“This is called Medica III,” he explained as he slipped a hand underneath Roxbury’s head to tilt his face up and pressed the bottle against his lips. “Nitish made it. It’s far stronger than any medicine he created before. Drink. You’ll feel better.”

Although it appeared difficult for him to do so, Roxbury drank the medicine, it thankfully working quickly enough to bring some colour back to his cheeks. His exhaustion from the stress and pain could not be so ‘easily’ fixed. Only sleep could do that. And, truthfully, he wasn’t out of the woods let. He needed to be seen by Isiah. The Medica III will allow them time to get him to the Forgotten Capital, their meet-up point.

“Did Neolani do this?” Achyuta asked tersely as he glanced over his shoulder, toward the blonde-haired woman who was furiously glaring back at him as well.

“No, a ram did,” Zesiro said as he kept a firm hold of Roxbury, making absolutely no indication that he was willing to let him go.

“A what?” Achyuta questioned, but quickly shook his head as tossed the empty bottle of medica aside. “Never mind. It’s not important at present.”

He had so many questions regarding his brother’s absence and re-appearance in his life, but they, too, had to wait. More important matters needed to be dealt with first.

“I better move from centre stage, I suppose,” a man dressed in runemaster robes muttered as he turned his back toward Neolani and walked toward Zesiro, casually carrying a driveblade in one hand.

“Spotlight hog,” Zesiro smirked at him.

“You’re the one to talk,” he scoffed in reply.

Achyuta glanced at the brown-haired man speaking to his brother before doing a double take. “Wait, you-”

The brown-haired runemaster sighed as he stabbed the driveblade into the ground and rested against it in a far too casual way. “This is going to be happening a lot now, isn’t it?” he asked, directing his question toward Zesiro.

“Most likely,” Zesiro said in response as he continued to hold Roxbury securely in his arms. He glanced down at Roxbury for a moment before turning his attention back to Achyuta. “His appearance can be explained later.”

Achyuta nodded his head. “Sure.” While the man may share similar appearances with Nitish, he wasn’t Nitish. And thank goodness for that! He didn’t want someone as gentle and sensitive as Nitish in such a harsh and dark place.

“Ah, Prince Baldur,” an elderly man greeted with a sense of familiarity as he moved to stand beside Neolani, the blonde-haired woman still looked as bitter and furious toward them all. Behind her three armoured knights stood at attention, all of them edgy and anticipating what was to follow, no doubt.

“Jerimoth?” Prince Baldur muttered, sounding as confused as he looked. He, however, soon became angry. “You’re the one behind all this?”

“All in the name of the Empire, I assure you,” Elder Jerimoth returned as he fidgeted ever so slightly, seemingly trying to conceal a book that he was carrying under his arm.

“You’re going to need more than just words to assure me,” Prince Baldur retorted sharply as Logre stood beside him, Xander standing on the other, flanking him to ensure his safety. Biast stayed at the back, his hulking figure easily seen over them all.

“Since we’re all gathered here together, why don’t you start with telling the truth?” Zesiro unexpected demanded as he carefully moved toward the back of the group, where Roxbury could be the most protected. “The whole truth.”

Elder Jerimoth looked momentarily put off, seemingly appalled that someone was to make a demand of him for a change. However, an expression of superiority soon appeared on his face and he sniffed slightly. “Oh, why not?” he said in a somewhat trivializing manner. “The truth is simple. We’re going to resurrect the Yggdrasil Titan and continue with our plan. What more is there to say?”

Honestly, Achyuta wasn’t surprised. He was still shocked at hearing it, mind. But he wasn’t surprised.

“The Titan has been destroyed,” Sir Logre said as he moved to stand slightly in front of Prince Baldur, slowly removing his driveblade from his back to wield if necessary. “It cannot return. It’s impossible.”

“No,” Elder Jerimoth said smugly as he ran his fingers over the edge of the book he was carrying under his arm. “Nothing’s impossible for the empire.”

“That book…” Sir Logre muttered as he frowned deeply.

Could it be…? That book was the one that resurrected the Sand Leviathan? Were they really hoping that a shred of the Yggdrasil Titan somehow existed deep within these bloody walls so they could revive their murderous plan?

“The Yggdrasil Titan would only cause more carnage within the four lands,” Achyuta said as he moved to stand by Sir Logre and his Prince. “Besides, even if you manage such a feat, it will simply be defeated once again. The Phaedron Guild will make sure of it.”

The expression of superiority that Elder Jerimoth wore promptly dissolved into a hateful scowl. “Phaedron Guild? Humph,” he spat once more. “I’m sure they’re too busy right now.”

“I had figured as much,” Logre said darkly. “You kidnapped Roxbury, poisoned Kirjonen and stranded Ciaran in the Windy Plains as distractions.”

“And His Highness is in no condition to put up much of a fight,” Elder Jerimoth added condescendingly as he flicked his gaze toward Prince Baldur. “How is the curse plaguing you, your Highness?”

Prince Baldur winced and gritted his teeth as he curled his hands into fists at his sides. “…You knew, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Neolani finally spoke, a smirk of wicked delight spreading across her lips. “We knew that the one to call upon the Titan would suffer the full effect of the curse. You were a sacrificial lamb for the longevity of the empire. Nothing more.”

Prince Baldur became alarmingly pale. “...What?”

Achyuta felt a sense of reason anger begin to swell within him. “That would explain why you were so insistent in his highness's success,” he said tersely toward Neolani. “But what are you gaining from all of this?”

“Neolani has been chosen to be the empire’s new leader,” Elder Jerimoth replied simply.

…What?! Of all the delirious reasoning they could have come up with…making Neolani the next leader of the empire? That self-centred woman? She couldn’t possibly be worthy of such a role. She did nothing for anyone without first ensuring that she was the one to gain the most!

“You cannot be serious?” Achyuta all but spluttered in response, receiving not only a harsh glare from Neolani, but one from elder Jerimoth himself.

“Treacherous Imperials like you need to be permanently exiled,” Jerimoth spat, his words practically coated with venom.

“So, the whole fracas in Tharsis was to lure us out here?” Sir Logre questioned aloud, even though the answer was obvious to begin with.

“Mostly,” Neolani said in an entirely flippant manner, arrogantly flicking her hair over her shoulder. “It was to also prove how useless these adventurers truly are.”

Achyuta had always figured the fact that the Yggdrasil Titan was defeated by a guild of explorers and researchers to be a thorn in the Empire’s honour. Still, that wasn’t the whole reason why their destined confrontation was taking place in such a…dark place. “Why have you chosen this place?”

“As Elder has stated before,” Neolani said as she once again glared furiously at him. “Treacherous Imperials need to be permanently exiled.”

“In other words; killed off?” Sir Logre reiterated displeasingly.

“Yes. For the sake of the empire,” Neolani responded quickly with an air of authority as she turned her full attention to Sir Logre, granting him a somewhat overconfident smirk. “However, Logre, you have another destiny to fulfil.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” Sir Logre questioned. His expression, however, gave the impression that he was somewhat unenthusiastic to hear the answer.

Neolani stood tall as she raised her chin slightly in a sign of powerful authority. “You are to rule over the empire with me, as my dutiful and obliging companion. You are to cater to me and only me.”

Wait…was she implying what they thought she was implying?

“W-what are you saying?” Prince Baldur stuttered.

“Why Sir Logre, you old dog,” Zesiro unexpectedly commented from the back with a sarcastic sense of mirth. “It seems that Neolani here wants you to be her husband for the New Empire.”

An expression of disgust immediately appeared on Sir Logre features. He appeared to be gritting his teeth together harshly as he tightened his grip upon his driveblade. Clearly, he’d rather take his chances within these red walls than become Neolani’s devoted husband. Something Achyuta did not blame him for at all.  
   
Even Prince Baldur seemed disgusted at the prospect. “What? That’s never going to happen! I refuse!”

“A snot-nosed brat like you can never understand,” Neolani immediately snapped, glaring daggers at His Highness.

“I know a hell of a lot more than you do!”

“Enough!” Elder Jerimoth suddenly barked, causing everyone to become tense and guarded. “Neolani, you must defeat this shameful prince. Your future is within your grasp.”

Neolani’s body language went from conceited superior to dangerously threatening as she lifted her driveblade in one hand and rested it over her shoulder. “Yes...” she murmured as she slowly walked forward.

Reacting quickly, Achyuta released his own driveblade and moved to stand directly in front of His Highness. “I won't allow you to harm Prince Baldur,” he said as he held his specially crafted weapon in front of him.

“He is no longer a worthy prince,” Neolani hissed as she lifted her driveblade from her shoulder, more than willing to go through him to get to Prince Baldur. In fact, he was certain she would relish in it.

“And you…” he murmured lowly as he tightened his grip on his driveblade.

Anger…Such hatred toward the woman in front of him. It was making it difficult to breath. He had never felt anything like it before in his life.

No…he wasn’t going to lose his temper. He was going to use it.

“You are not worthy of the air you breathe!” Achyuta said as he quickly wielded his blade, unleashing an attack that caught Neolani completely off-guard, sending not only her back a few feet, but throwing Elder Jerimoth off his balance as well.

The other armoured Imperials, who were silent during the entire exchanged, seemed taken aback by what they had just witnessed. But Achyuta ignored them. They weren’t a threat to him. There were only three of them. Sir Logre and the others would take care of them easily.

And elder Jerimoth? He wasn’t a threat to anyone.

“Achyuta!” Sir Logre called out to him, no doubt surprised that he had chosen to attack first.

“Protect his highness,” Achyuta returned, keeping his full attention upon the opponent in front of him. “I’ll take on Neolani. She has hurt too many people. I won’t allow her to hurt anyone else.”

“…Fine,” Sir Logre replied as he moved to position himself directly in front of Prince Baldur, whom of which was silently shaken by the truth he had discovered. Xander immediately moved to stand on his other side, once again protecting him from all angles of attack.

Staggering to her feet, an expression of surprise appeared on Neolani’s face and she gaped at him for the barest of seconds. However, an expression of sheer and utter rage soon appeared and she made a sound that was akin to that of a monster’s cry before she lunged at him.

Achyuta, however, effortlessly blocked her attack. He had expected her to react in such a way. She gave into her own hatred for him. Her self-centred pride won’t allow her to lose in any manner. She didn’t care one iota who or what got in her way.

He was determined to be different. Even with his anger, he was mindful of those around him. He could hear the clashing of metal, of weapon crashing against weapon. He could hear the shuffling of feet as they continuously repositioned themselves on the battlefield.

Most importantly, he could hear his companions talk amongst themselves.

“Biast, take Roxbury and get out of here,” Sir Logre ordered. “He’s no condition to stay in this place a moment longer.”

“I understand,” Biast dutifully returned.

“Kalan, go with them,” Zesiro said as he (very reluctantly) released his hold on Roxbury (who was alarmingly silent) and placing him carefully within Biast’s large, but careful arms. “Things are going to get explosive in here.”

“Fine. My annoyance at these assholes isn’t nearly as potent as yours,” the man known as Kalan said as he handed Zesiro the driveblade he had been carrying in one hand. “I have a few medicas that might help anyway.”

Carefully cradling Roxbury in his arms, Biast paused to allow Kalan to climb into his back before he stood to his full height and sniffed the air. He took a moment to pinpoint the route to the outside world. With a flick of his ear, he seemed to have learnt what he needed. With barely a backwards glance, he was gone.

An unknown Imperial immediately made the motion to follow, though feeble it may be. Zesiro, however, instantly stood in their way, an expression of sadistic delight on his face. “Not this time, fuckers!” he yelled as he immediately engaged them in battle.

Behind him, the sound of other driveblades engaging with powerful elemental attacks echoed through the halls, causing the walls and the floor beneath their feet to sporadically tremble.

With the others distracted and prevented from following Biast with his precious cargo, Neolani seemed ready to go after them herself, to no doubt get back at him in some manner, but Achyuta was having none of it. He said he won’t allow her to hurt anyone else and he meant that.

“Are you truly without mercy?!” Achyuta hissed as he deflected her driveblade with his, momentarily pushing her aside and off-balance.

She quickly steadied herself, however, and whirled around to face him, swinging her driveblade wildly. “I must do whatever it takes to bring power back to the empire!”

That got right on Achyuta’s last nerve. What she was doing had nothing to do with the empire but everything to do with her own selfish desire to be the centre of everyone’s lives!

“I will not allow Emperor Afrodr’s dream of peace to be tarnished a moment longer!” Achyuta shouted as he leapt back, reaching into the collar of his armour as he did so. Pulling out a single piece of paper, he flipped it open with a quick flick of his wrist, revealing the words of a powerful spell.

“Burst Skill: Falling Stars!”

Several explosions, far louder and larger than any that could be produced from their driveblades shook the walls of the darken labyrinth fiercely, sending Neolani flying backwards several feet through the air before hitting the stone floor with a deafening thud, skidding even further away.

Slowly, Achyuta walked through the cloud of debris he had created, pushing up his glasses onto the bridge of his nose with one hand as he carried his driveblade casually in his other. Some kind of multi-coloured mole creature leapt out at him, seemingly enraged by the blast of the burst skill, but Achyuta swatted it aside with his driveblade. He didn’t know what it was and, frankly, he didn’t care.

The true monster, after all, was right in front of him.

He found no joy in the expression of absolute surprise on Neolani’s face. “When did you get so strong?” she asked him, her voice a mixture of the emotions surprise, fear and rage.

“When I found a reason to be strong,” Achyuta answered as he continued to approach. “Actually, I found several reasons. Nitish, Varuna, Roxbury, Ciaran, Kirjonen, Sir Logre, Prince Baldur, Xander, everyone from my guild, every citizen of Tharsis, all the Vessels, all the Sentinels, even our fellow Imperials…so many innocent people had suffered because of you.”

Neolani scrambled to her feet and hastily pointed her driveblade at him, an expression of insanity spreading across her face. “The Empire is superior!” she practically shrilled. “Sacrifices must be made for the greater good!”

“Clearly, fighting on someone’s behalf rather than for your own desires is something you will never understand,” Achyuta replied coolly as continued to approach Neolani and she continued to back away.

As Neolani slipped around a corner, Achyuta immediately moved to follow. However, he found himself coming to an abrupt stop. It wasn’t just because it was a dead-end, but because of the strange stone figures that lined the walls.

Statues? Why would there be numerous statues of people with expressions of utter horror on their faces be standing in the middle of the pathway? Unless…

Achyuta abruptly found his attention drawn to a strangely blue and yellow coloured flower as it floated out, almost sleepily, from behind the statue he was looking at. Despite the difference in colour, it looked just like a…petaloid.

Shit.

“Don’t engage with that flower!” Achyuta found himself yelling, momentarily forgetting about his intense hatred for the woman before him.

As per usual, Neolani blatantly ignored him. Irritated that the flower was in her way, she sliced at it with her blade, expecting to cut it in half to dispose of it completely. But somehow she failed to kill it. It looked like she barely even damaged it. Instead, her action caused the flower to unfurl its yellow petals as it flailed about in the air for a moment. It then turned toward Neolani, its petals swaying back and forth, almost like it was breathing.

It then appeared to bristle before spitting some kind pollen or sap out. Whatever it was it struck Neolani right on the middle of her forehead and she reeled her head back in shock. And then she…she…

Turned into an s-statue…? Her armour remained untouched, but her skin, her hair was grey. Not a pale, sickly grey, but of rough, grey stone.

Her expression was identical to the statue he bumped into.

Achyuta felt his eyes widen in disbelief, which quickly turned to fear when four more yellow and blue flowers drifted into view, seemingly drawn by the other’s flailing. If a single flower could turn a human being into a statue – what could _five_ of them do together?

He wasn’t going to stick around to find out!

“Sir Logre, grab his highness and run!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I accidentally bumped into that skit where five Muskoids ambushes you and turn you to stone, forcing you to redraw the fucking map again…how can you tell? Has anyone defeated the little bastards by some miracle of god?


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I better get this up before I lose my internet again DX Oh, and thank you to everyone who kudos "Cheating Fate"! I really appreciate it <3

Since becoming an explorer with the Phaedron guild, Achyuta had seen some deathly terrifying monsters and creatures that roamed the many labyrinths. Some of them small, but fierce. Other large and powerful. Some that looked cute and fluffy, while others seemed to be born from nightmares.

But nothing had ever put the fear in him as suddenly as the blue and yellow flowers that were floating silently through the air behind him did. Then again, he had never encountered a monster or FOE that could turn living people into stone statues before. Especially a person right in front of him. With a _single_ attack.

The first person Achyuta saw when he rounded the corner was his brother, Zesiro, who hasty pushed away the Imperial he was at battle with and furrowed his brow in clear confusion. “Flowers?” he questioned, sounding somewhat dubious.

“They can turn living objects into stone!” Achyuta shouted back.

“Well, _shit.”_

“Exactly!” Achyuta paused only for a second to grasp his brother by the arm and pull him along. “Go!”

A yellow and blue flower suddenly darted alongside Zesiro, its petals unfurled and seemingly angry. Instead of slashing at it desperately with his driveblade, Zesiro somehow managed to unhook the gauntlet of his armour and flung it toward the flower. The piece of armour was immediately turned to stone. However, it also served in knocking the flower to the ground, momentarily immobilising it.

“Don’t let the little bastards hit the skin!”

Cursing under his breath, Sir Logre kicked at the Imperial that was battling him, pushing them away from him and onto their backs. He then holstered his driveblade upon his back and did something that would be unsophisticated by royal standards, but totally necessary. He picked Prince Baldur up with one arm, wrapping it around his waist and holding him against his side.

With Prince Baldur secure in his grip, Sir Logre ran. And Xander was right behind him.

They left elder Jerimoth cowering in the corner like the deceitful rat that he was and simply ran. Chances were, however, that the flowers would go after moving targets, anyway. There was the slight possibility that if Elder Jerimoth stayed still, he would be unharmed.

Getting out, however, won’t be easy.

“Achyuta, hurry!” Sir Logre called out to him. “Follow the ice crystals! That runemaster must have left a trail for us!”

“I owe Kalan a drink then,” Zesiro muttered as they ran almost blindly through the red stained hallways. “What happened to Neolani?”

“She was turned to stone,” Achyuta replied, not exactly thrilled with the thought, but couldn’t help but find ironic justice in it anyway.

And Zesiro seemed to agree. “Tch. Talk about anticlimactic. I expected better of you.”

“My apologies for not living up to your standards,” Achyuta muttered in response. “At least she received the immortality she wanted. Just…not in the way she wanted.”

Zesiro snorted out a laugh. “I’m sure she would have preferred a bronzed statue instead!”

A monster in the form of a giant ram with orange fleece suddenly appeared and growled lowly at right them, right in front of Achyuta, causing him to stumble slightly. He looked up at it, surprised by how it appeared so similar to the ones that roamed the Scarlet Pillars. This one, however, looked far more menacing.

“Ugh, it’s that fucking sheep-thing again!” Zesiro cursed loudly as he grabbed Achyuta by his arm and lugged him backwards sharply, successfully pulling him out of the creature’s path.

For some reason, as Zesiro pulled him along as they desperately searched for the exit, he remembered that Elder Jerimoth had a book with him. The book that was able to revive any fallen monster, regardless of size and age. They needed to get it and destroy it before someone else got their hands on it!

“Wait! The book!”

“Forget it!” Zesiro yelled back at him, tightening his grip on his wrist as he pulled them both around the back of the monster, avoiding all contact with it. “It’s not going anywhere in here!”

Zesiro continued to pull him along, both of them skidding around sharp corner after sharp corner. The bright light of the Geo Pole illuminated their path, the sight greatly reassuring. It meant that the doors leading outside were close.

Pulling him outside, Zesiro abruptly let go of Achyuta’s wrist and skidded to a halt. He then spun around, grabbed the metal enforced doors and slammed them shut with a thunderous crash.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Achyuta did a quick head count. One, two…six! Counting him and his brother, eight. Good. Sir Logre and Xander managed to get Prince Baldur outside safely. And they, too, were seemingly unharmed. Well, none of them had turned to stone, so any other injury they could have received during the battle and hasty escape could easily be fixed.

“D-did any manage to get outside?” Achyuta asked nervously as he turned his attention to the door leading inside.

“We’re good,” Zesiro murmured as he leaned his back against the doors to catch his breath.

“Step aside.”

“Eh?” Zesiro muttered as he lifted his head up, his brow furrowed.

A look of surprise soon appeared on his face and he hastily scrambled to his left. The moment he did, a seeming impenetrable wall of ice abruptly rose up in front of the doors, successfully sealing them shut.

Startled, Achyuta turned to look behind him and saw the runemaster known as Kalan standing a few feet away, his hand in front of him as if he had just summoned a spell.

“I was going to use my driveblade, but this works, too,” Zesiro said as he indicated to the door with a dismissive wave of his hand before turning his attention to Kalan, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Didn't realise you were into ice sculpting.”

Kalan rolled his eyes and battered a strand of his hair from his face. “This place pisses me off,” he muttered before turning around and wandering away from the building.

“No kidding?” Zesiro commented lightly as he, too, moved away.

Now that they were outside in the sunlight, Achyuta was able to get a good look at the runemaster and he tilted his head slightly to the side. He had to admit, he had similar features to Nitish, but that was about it. His hair was brown, his eyes a dull purple in colour. Nothing like the silky blond hair of Nitish’s, or his shining blue eyes. And his face seemed to be a snarky stoic, nothing like Nitish’s gentle expression of peace and tranquillity. The way he stood, the folds of his robes. He even carried himself differently.

He wasn’t even going to begin assessing his personality. Honestly, they were nothing alike.

Of course…he was completely bias, but that was beside the point.

Quickly descending the stairs to get away from that dark and dangerous building, they pulled together into a group at a small clearing some yards away. Although the lands of the Cloudy Stronghold were toxic, compared to what they had encountered inside that foreboding labyrinth, they were far safer.

“Are you all right, your highness?” Sir Logre asked, giving his full attention to the unquestionable bewildered prince.

“Y-yes, fine,” Prince Baldur replied, but his expression stated otherwise. He looked far too pale to be fine.

Sir Logre certainly did not look convinced, but politely held his tongue. He, instead, turned his attention toward the ominous dark building they had hastily evacuated in a not-at-all dignified manner. “We were chased out by flowers,” he muttered, sounding somewhat incredulous.

“Don’t forget the sheep,” Zesiro commented rather too cheerfully as he strolled past them.

Xander watched Zesiro with a wary expression before sighing and turning his attention to Sir Logre. “Our armour is useless against such attacks.”

Keeping his gaze on his brother, Achyuta watched as Zesiro walked over to where Biast was watching over Roxbury, whom of which was lying on a make-shift blanket on the ground. He stopped a few feet away, where a few empty bottles of medica littered the ground. He said nothing, his expression blank, as he simply looked at Roxbury.

Silently, Achyuta made his way to his brother’s side and stood by him for a moment, not surprised that he received no reaction from him. There were so many questions he wanted to ask Zesiro. Why they were separated. What he had been doing for the past twelve years. Why he had shown himself in town. What he knew about the extremists and what they were planning to do.

Those questions, however, would have to wait. His brother…was a good person. He would explain later. When they had time.

He did not know what had happened inside that strange labyrinth or what happened between his brother and his guild leader (his friend), but something did. Although his face was stoic, seemingly emotionless, Achyuta could see the guilt and regret in his brother’s eyes as he stared down at Roxbury.

It…It seemed as though Roxbury made an impression on his brother.

Looking down at Roxbury, Achyuta felt a knot of concern appear in the pit of his stomach. Out in the sunlight, he could see how pale Roxbury was and how deeply laboured his breathing was. There was a tear in his clothing, against his side with a few flakes of dry blood. Did a previous injury reopen or was it a fresh one that had been healed?

“Biast, how is he?” Achyuta asked as he knelt down next to Roxbury’s unnervingly still and prone form.

“Internal bleeding,” Biast replied grimly. “We must get him to Isiah as quickly as possible.”

“Ciaran is manning the airship,” Sir Logre stated as he holstered his driveblade upon his back with one hand, the other grasping at Prince Baldur’s shoulder. “Hopefully, he’s still in one piece…”

“Hn…”

“Roxbury?” Achyuta questioned as a small sense of relief touch him when Roxbury opened his eyes. His vision appeared blurry, the light of the sun harsh after being locked inside such a dark place for too long.

“W-where…?” Roxbury stuttered as he tried to sit up

“Easy now,” Achyuta said as he placed his hands on Roxbury’s shoulders in order to keep in in place and not to put anymore strain upon his fragile body. “We’re all here and safe. Even Zesiro and Kalan.”

“A-ah, that’s good,” Roxbury murmured as he relaxed under Achyuta’s hands. He closed his eyes for a moment before forcing them to open, looking around for someone or something. “W-where’s Baldur?” he unexpectedly asked.

Glancing over his shoulder, Achyuta was able to witness an expression of surprise spread across Prince Baldur’s face before taking a somewhat stumbling step forward. He then moved to kneel down next to Roxbury’s side.

“…I’m here,” he said.

Roxbury cough lightly as he raised his hand toward him. For a moment, Prince Baldur simply looked at his hand, an expression of confusion on his face. However, he tentatively lifted his own hands to grasp at Roxbury’s hand lightly.

“Don't...don't blame yourself,” Roxbury said, even though it appeared painful for him to talk. “Their lies became your truth. You...didn't know any better. No one told you the truth.”

Prince Baldur’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment before his face crumbled and his bit his lower lip. He didn’t say anything. He simply cast his eyes toward the ground, unwilling to allow anymore emotions to the surface. He did, however, tightening his hands around Roxbury’s.

“You need to rest now,” Achyuta said as he placed his hand atop of both his prince’s and his friend’s when he noticed that Roxbury’s eyes were drooping from exhaustion. “Everything will be all right now.”

Once more, Prince Baldur looked startled, looking up at Achyuta before quickly looking away, as if he could not comprehend the compassion and loyalty he was receiving.

“Biast, take Roxbury to the airship,” Sir Logre ordered as Achyuta folded Roxbury’s arms across his stomach in order to make him more comfortable. “You’re quicker than us. There’s a first aid kit aboard. Should be enough until we get him to Isiah. We’ll be right behind you.”

Carefully, Biast picked Roxbury up into his arm, cradling him so gently in his large, furry arms. “Very well,” he said simply before holding Roxbury closer against his chest. He then sprung to his feet, effortlessly bounding over the uneven terrain, disappearing quickly from sight.

Now. It was time for them to make their way back to the Forgotten Capital. Where everyone was waiting for them. Where they’ll have already formulated the cure for Kirjonen.

“And now?” Kalan was heard softly speaking to Zesiro.

“Yeah, no point in hiding anymore,” Zesiro replied, keeping his voice low as well.

Honestly, that was a relief to hear.

“What was that place?” Achyuta couldn’t help but ask his brother as they made their way toward the Golden Deer Keep, some distance away as a group. “Do you know?”

“It's known as the Hall of Darkness,” Zesiro readily supplied, surprisingly, as he took the lead. “I thought they were exaggerating, but it seems pretty accurate.”

Indeed a fitting name. “What was its purpose?”

Zesiro abruptly released a drawn out, dramatic sigh. _“Fine,”_ he muttered before turning his attention toward them as a group, looking intensely serious. “It's believed that this place is where the Yggdrasil was created. Where the curse began. Many years ago lived an advanced civilisation. They believed solely in the power of science. However, the lands around them were becoming tainted, unliveable. They built this place in order to find a way to purify the lands. And keep control over Yggdrasil.”

To say that Achyuta was surprised would have been an understatement. “People once lived there?”

Zesiro gave a slightly dismissive shrug of his shoulder as he turned around, once again leading them. “It was a bunker, of sorts.”

In order to reach Golden Deer Keep, they needed to descend a grouping of boulders. Sir Logre helped Prince Baldur down the first boulder, but as his highness set to move down the next, he right leg unexpectedly gave out from under him. Before Sir Logre could react, Zesiro did, catching Baldur before he fell. Once again, Prince Baldur seemed surprised by the aide, but his expression soon smoothed out and he frowned as he turned his attention toward Zesiro.

“How old is that place?” he asked.

“Not entirely sure,” Zesiro said as they slowly climbed down the rocky landscape and toward the small sandstone structure they were far more familiar with, the four of them silently taking turns to assist his highness without being too obviously about it.

“Hundreds? Thousands of years?” Zesiro shrugged lightly.

“It's safe to say those who once lived here don't exist anymore,” Kalan added with a murmurer.

“You mentioned about keeping control of Yggdrasil,” Prince Baldur said as they reached smoother ground. “What did you mean?”

“There’s supposedly a fail-safe system created, an Insatiable Pupa or something to that extent,” Zesiro explained as the stairs leading to Golden Deer Keep came into view. “It supposedly can prevent the Yggdrasil Titan from becoming uncontrollable. How, I don’t know. It’s locked in there, doing shit all.”

Sir Logre’s brow furrowed in thought. “Could this...pupa, you mentioned, be a threat to us now that the Yggdrasil Titan has been destroyed?”

“...Probably,” Zesiro muttered as a dark expression appeared on his face for a mere moment before he shrugged seemingly dismissively. “Who knows? It was created to keep Yggdrasil in check.”

As they descended the stairs leading inside, Sir Logre appeared somewhat sceptical. “How do you know so much about this place?” he asked.

Again, Zesiro shrugged. “It was my purpose for the past twelve years.”

It was Achyuta’s turn to furrow his brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I don't feel like answering any more questions today,” Zesiro said instead as he indicated toward a set of doors.

As they passed through the doors, Zesiro headed toward the eastern side of the door and picked up a large, thick piece of chain and a heavy duty lock. He then moved back toward the door and wrapped the chains through the handles tightly. After ensuring the chains could not be loosened, he then attached the lock within a couple of the steel loops. He then muttered something to Kalan, whom had lingered nearby.

Reaching into his robes, Kalan pulled out a simple key. He handed it to Zesiro, who quickly inserted it into the lock.

The lock clicked loudly into place.

Without uttering a word, Zesiro handed the key back to Kalan and the two of them began to walk off, Kalan carefully concealing the key within his robes.

Getting the gist of what the two were trying to do, Achyuta and the others silently followed, somewhat grateful that the lock was set in place. No one else was going to accidentally venture toward the Hall of Darkness and nothing was getting out. The Geo Pole hadn’t been activated, and if they had any say in the matter, it never will.

As they marched through the halls of books and wisteria, Zesiro abruptly pulled Achyuta to a stop. “You might want to remove your armour before your runemaster sees it,” he said as he indicated toward his arm with the tilt of his head.

Furrowing his brow lightly in confusion, Achyuta turned to look where his brother was indicating. “My armour?” he questioned before his expression smoothed out into that of surprise. Reaching toward a piece of his armour, he quickly detached it and felt greatly alarmed. “It’s…completely turned to stone.”

Immediately, Sir Logre checked over his highness before checking his own armour, a deep frown appearing on his lips. “Fragments of our armours as well,” he muttered as he reached up behind his shoulder and removed a large chunk of stone. “Then that means…?”

“Neolani and those still inside aren’t a threat anymore,” Xander said as he reached up and removed his back plate, tossing it to the side carelessly with a thud, not a clunk.

“What a truly frightening place,” Achyuta murmured as he began to remove the evidence from himself.

“You should see the second floor,” Zesiro added, a low, incoherent curse passing his lips.

“Makes you wonder what’s on the third floor, doesn’t it?” Kalan unexpectedly wondered.

“Yeah, no,” Zesiro muttered as he rolled his shoulder, his chest and back free of armour, only a thin sleeveless shirt his only protection. Much like Achyuta himself. “I’d rather not.”

They all took a moment or two to rid themselves of their heavy stone armour, all of them startled by how close they had come to turning into a stone statue. And how many pieces of their armour were now useless. Those flowers were truly the most frightening thing he had ever encountered. The Yggdrasil Titan had nothing on them.

They all shared a quick look before leaving the stones behind and heading toward the exit. They weren’t going to tell their guildmates of what truly happened to their armour. That would only upset them.

Although…Achyuta doubted he could keep it from Nitish. He, after all, warned him about them. Still…

Stepping outside, the sight of Sir Logre’s airship still in one piece was the second best sight Achyuta could ever possibly imagine.

“Xander!”A familiar voice called. A second later, a certain red-haired wharf-master appeared, looking over the side of the gondola. The uncertainty on his face soon shifted into relief. “Ah, yeh all ok!”

“Yes, we are fine,” Xander replied in a surprisingly (yet, not entirely) gentle manner.

“What happened to your armour?” Ciaran asked as he quirked his head to the side in question, utterly confused.

“Never mind. Get the airship ready, Ciaran,” Sir Logre said as they set to board. “Next stop, the Forgotten Capital.”

“Roger!”

… … … … …

Pushing away from his temporary and hastily arranged work desk on board the Duscha, Nitish gently patted Zoran on the head, comforting and encouraging the little arcanist as he reinstated a Sleep Circle around Kirjonen, ensuring that he continued to sleep comfortably. As he moved toward the stairs leading to the upper deck, he paused briefly to give Isiah a bottle of medica, saying nothing of his haggard appearance.

He then quickly ascended the stairs in order to get some much needed fresh air. There was nothing more he could do to prepare. His tools and utensils were all cleaned and ready to go. All he could was wait. Wait for the ingredients. Wait for everyone to return to them. Safely.

Achyuta…Roxbury…they were both still alive. Everyone was alive. He could feel them.

He could also feel the fear and uncertainty of his teammates and family. Their second-in-command was especially fraught with uncertainty. He was standing at the bow of the airship, keeping an eye out for Falkner who had ventured beyond the Sealed Door within the Forgotten Capital, while keeping the other toward the horizon, constantly scanning the skies for airships. Particularly airships containing their friends and family.

“I did the right thing, didn’t I?” Mahalah asked him as he slowly turned his head toward him, his voice strained with emotions and his eyes dull from insecurity. “Please tell me I did.”

His fear and guilt was so strong that it brought tears to Nitish’s eyes, but he pushed them back and he moved closer to Mahalah, pulling the purple-dancer into a comforting hug. “Everything will be fine,” he said as Mahalah pressed his face against his shoulder, readily returning the embrace. “I believe that.”

“Being a leader…is hard, isn’t it?” Mahalah stated more so than asked as he rested his cheek on Nitish’s shoulder. “You know, I was always supportive of Roxbury, but I never really realised how…stressful being a leader was.”

“It takes a certain type of person to be a leader,” Nitish replied with understanding in his voice. He then smiled softly when he felt a familiar presence draw closer to their location. “Especially to a guild like ours.”

Mahalah gave a small laugh, releasing a small amount of his tension. “That’s very true,” he said as he pulled away from Nitish, granting him a small, but grateful smile.

“Mahalah!”

Mahalah eyes widened and he immediately turned to look over the side of the gondola, gripping at the wooden railing with tense fingers. “Falkner? Are you all right?” he called out.

Not bothering with the boarding plank, Falkner used the rigging rope hanging over the side of the Duscha to climb aboard effortlessly. “I got the Valerian,” he immediately said as he plucked a small knapsack from his belt and handed it to Nitish.

Carefully cradling the ingredients with his hands, Nitish immediately sensed that there was more than one ingredient inside and the items’ potency was fresh and undamaged. Thank the Spirits.

After ensuring that Falkner was physically unharmed, Mahalah furrowed his brow when he realised that Falkner had returned alone. “Where’s-?”

“Telem’s gone to get Durriken,” Falkner explained as he idly ran his tongue over his bottom lip, which had been cut in some kind of skirmish. “We ran into some Imperials.”

Mahalah’s frown deepened. “Imperials?”

Falkner, however, didn’t want to elaborate. “They’ve all been taken care of, don’t worry,” he said dismissively.

Nitish was somewhat dismayed to learn of Imperial involvement. He had not sensed any hostility. That, however, could easily be explained by the fact that he was surrounded by the auras and emotions of worry and concern, tinged with guilt and uncertainty. He had been too busy sorting out the emotions of those around him from his own feelings, while also preparing for the hasty creation of an antidote, that he had been forced to subdue his sensitivity.

Lifting his gaze from the bag of materials in his hands, Nitish turned to look up at the sky. “Mahalah, look,” he said as he indicated toward the southern sky with a wave of his hand and a smile on his lips. “They’re coming.”

Mahalah immediately whipped around to look himself. “Who?”

There were two airships. One with red sails that belonged to no other than Wiglaf’s airship. And the other, with blue and green sails was their sister companion, Espiritu. And they were moving in quickly.

Nitish could see and sense that everyone was accounted for and present, healthy and relatively unharmed. However, the addition of the pink-haired Imperial aboard Wiglaf’s airship was a bit of a surprise. Ah, she had to be Yesmina, Wiglaf’s friend. But why was she…?

No, never mind. He was sure she had her reasons.

Quickly, Espiritu and Wiglaf’s airship both pulled alongside the Duscha, on either side. The moment the airships were within range, Varuna from the Espiritu and Blayden from the other airship both fearlessly used rigging rope to swing aboard the Duscha.

“I got three waterlilies,” Varuna said as he presented the bag he was holding in his hand.

“We grabbed as much as we could,” Blayden said as he, too, showed the gathered materials.

Nitish took the Myrciara Fruit from Blayden while Varuna kept a hold of the waterlilies. The two of them then quickly made their way down the stairs to the inner hull of Duscha, where Isiah was waiting. With Zoran staying by Kirjonen’s bed side, ready to pull back his Sleep Circle at request, the three researchers huddled around the work table to prepare.

As Varuna check the materials’ potency and to weed out any with accidentally toxicity, Nitish heated up the flasks filled with water and purified their working utensils while Isiah prepared the methods of administration. There were two methods they had to use. First, liquid form for Kirjonen to drink, giving his body the strength necessary to fight off such a deadly poisoning. And the second was in the form of a misty spray, to enter his lungs and to rid the true source of the pollutant.

Carefully pulling the petals from the flowers and placing them into a flask of hot, clear river water, Nitish then hastily dried out the roots with his fire magic before using a mortar to grind the root into a powdery paste. They needed to use all of the material. The petals, the stem, the roots - everything. They were going to hit the source of the poisoning hard and fast. They needed to.

Wordlessly and efficiently, they worked together with their individual tasks. Finally pulling all the ingredients together, mixing them into one pot of boiling water, they waited for the water to cool a bit before filtering the continents into two bottles. Usually such a potion would need at least 12 to 24 hours to set after being crafted, but they didn’t have that much time.

They couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

Taking the two bottles, Isiah and Varuna hurried made their way over to Kirjonen, moving to either side of the bed the moment Zoran removed his Sleep Circle. Slipping an arm under Kirjonen’s shoulders, Isiah carefully sat Kirjonen up on the bed, his arm supporting him completely.

Nitish stood back with Zoran, placing his hands on the vessel’s shoulders and holding him against him, and watched as Varuna and Isiah worked together to get Kirjonen to drink the medicine. Nitish wanted to help them in some way, but they would only get in each other’s way if the three of them huddled around.

It took a few agonising minutes for Kirjonen to drink the antidote without choking on the liquid before the entire bottle was empty.

Tossing the empty bottle aside idly, Isiah then turned his attention to the inhaler. Administrating this method was going to take longer as he had to wait for when Kirjonen breathed in before he could gently release a small spray of the medicine to be inhaled into his lungs.

Nitish had no idea how much time had passed, watching anxiously as Kirjonen took one shuddering breath after another, but eventually that bottle of medicine was also emptied. Tossing that empty bottle aside, Isiah and Varuna carefully lowered Kirjonen onto the bed once more.

All they could now was wait…

Again…

“Did it work?” Mahalah asked quietly from the stairs, seemingly purposely lingering there to ensure that no one else tried to enter and potentially get in their way.

As Nitish turned to him, opening his mouth to tell them that they needed to wait a little bit longer for results, there was a slight moan of discomfort from the bed. Snapping his mouth shut, Nitish turned to watch as Kirjonen’s sweaty brow suddenly furrowed and his lips parted to release a low, soft groan.

“Hng…”

“Ah, he’s waking up,” Nitish said, his expression lightening.

“Slow down there, Kirjonen,” Isiah gently soothed.

Slowly, Kirjonen opened his eyes. There was a look of distress on his face, but that was understandable after being unconscious for so long. “Hn…?”

“You’re all right now,” Isiah continued to reassure. “Just rest.”

“Isiah?” Mahalah quietly questioned

After an intense minute of checking Kirjonen’s vital signs, Isiah sighed and heaved himself to his feet. “He’s out of danger.”

Mahalah’s shoulders sagged from intense relief. “I’ll tell the others,” he said before quickly hurrying upstairs.

As Nitish silently cleaned up his work bench, ensuring that nothing was left burning on accident, he felt a smile slip across his lips when the utter relief from his guildmates washed over him. It was so intense that he hastily rubbed at his eyes to push back the tears of relief.

Nitish abruptly paused in what he was doing when he felt a shiver race up his spine. The reaction was due to the familiar aura that was steadily coming closer. Pushing everything aside, he hastily made his way up the stairs onto the gondola. “S-sorry. Excuse me,” he murmured.

Quickly making his way down the boarding plank, Nitish watched as Logre’s airship quickly pulled into dock alongside Espiritu. With his heart beating loudly in his chest, Nitish waited for those on board to disembark. All he could really sense at that moment was Achyuta’s aura. As strong as ever.

Using a rope ladder thrown over the side of the gondola, Achyuta was the first to disembark, several parts of his armour missing, his chest and back armour in particular. He looked weary as he ran his hand through his hair. Behind him was Logre as he helped a rather pale looking Baldur from the airship, they, too, missing parts of their armour.

And behind them another imperial appeared, once again missing several pieces of his armour. And as he jumped from the gondola of the airship, he had someone else with him, holding him with one arm around his waist and up against his side. He was the thankfully familiar (and safe!) redheaded wharfmaster, Ciaran.

They had managed to rescue Ciaran as well!

Biast seemed to be lingering on board, the purple furred Bushi easily seen on deck. But…Roxbury? Where was Roxbury? He could…feel him, but his aura was faint. He was hurt…

“Achyuta!”

“Nitish…” Achyuta murmured as he abruptly dropped his driveblade and met Nitish half-way, immediately sweeping him up into his arms, holding him tightly against him, almost desperate in his embrace.

Nitish took a moment to rest against Achyuta’s worryingly armour free chest, curling his fingers around the thin material of a loose, sleeveless blue shirt he would wear underneath his armour. He relished in his physical and spiritual presence, quietly reassuring himself before pulling back slightly.

“What happened?” he asked as he reached up to frame Achyuta’s face in his hands. “Your armour?”

Achyuta sighed wearily, giving Nitish a forced smile. “Flowers.”

Nitish instantly knew what he meant and he felt a true sense of fear. However, he pushed that aside when Achyuta pulled him into a hug once more, threading his fingers through Nitish’s hair as he rested his cheek against the top of his head. Nitish rested his hands against Achyuta’s chest to feel his heartbeat and nuzzled his head under his chin.

He shifted only so slightly when he felt the familiar aura of Biast, their purple-furred bushi. However, he found himself pushing back against Achyuta ever so slightly when he felt another aura.

“Roxbury?” Nitish gasped, covering his mouth with his hand from the shock of how…pale and fragile Roxbury looked in Biast’s arms as the bushi continued to hold him. It was truly frightening. There was no other way to describe it.

“Oh god, not again,” Mahalah muttered, reigning back his tears as he hastily made his way over to Roxbury, pausing uncertainly in front of him, unsure of what to do. He was even hesitant to touch him, fearing that he could cause Roxbury even more harm. Instead he turned to call out for their medic. “Isiah!”

Not bothering with the boarding ramp, Isiah suddenly appeared by jumping over the side of the gondola, landing with a heavily thud. He was soon on his feet and was sprinting toward Biast and Roxbury.

“What happened to him?” Isiah immediately demanded as he quickly assessed Roxbury’s breathing and pulse. His placed his hand a few inches above Roxbury’s chest, it glowing faintly as he administered some form of healing.

“He was hit by a sheep.”

So surprised by Roxbury’s fragility that Nitish failed to sense the unfamiliar presence of Zesiro, Achyuta’s twin. “A sheep?” he questioned as he turned to look at the half-armoured imperial who was lingering near Logre’s airship.

Isiah also arched an eyebrow, but decided that he didn’t have time to waste asking questions. “Take him to the airship,” he said instead, turning his attention to Biast.

With a simple nod of his regal head, Biast pulled Roxbury close toward his chest once more before hastily, but carefully, bounded toward the Duscha. Isiah muttered something under his breath as he cast a quick glance over the new arrivals before hurrying toward the Duscha.

“You go, too, Mahalah,” Varuna prompted the startled and fearful dancer gently. “Isiah may need your help. We’ll take care of things from here.”

“Y-yes, alright,” Mahalah said before he spun on his heel and quickly made his way aboard the Duscha as well.

Varuna watched as Mahalah disappeared from sight with a concerned frown on his lips before turning to look at their new arrivals as well. Immediately, his eyes widen in surprise. “Ciaran!” he practically yelled as he hastily made his way over to the wharf-master to stand before him. “You’re all right?”

“Yeah,” Ciaran said as he smiled at Varuna before almost shyly indicating to the Imperial next to him. “Xander protected me while we were in the Windy Plains and we heard Logre’s airship as it was flying by, so they were able to pick us up along the way.”

Varuna’s shoulders dropped in relief. “Let’s get you some medica to ease your exhaustion,” he said as he turned to move toward the Duscha.

But as he did so Logre reached out to snare Varuna by the elbow, pulling him to an abrupt stop. “How’s Kirjonen?”

“The antidote worked,” Varuna immediately and quickly stated. “He’s-”

“Somewhat awake.”

Startled, everyone whipped around to look at the deck of the Duscha, surprise etching on their faces when they realised that Kirjonen, their blond-haired Holy Rune Knight was standing there, Blayden and Miach supporting him on either side, and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looked pale, sweaty and completely drained of energy.

However, there was a smile on his lips.

“Kirjonen?” Logre murmured before a look of relief appeared on his face and a lopsided smile spread across his lips. “How you doing?”

“Hm,” Kirjonen simply murmured as he continued to smile softly. “A little tired, but otherwise fine. Thankfully I’m tougher than I look.”

While it was good to see that Kirjonen was recovering so quickly, Nitish couldn’t help but feel concerned. Should he be up and walking so soon?

…No, he probably gave up his bed for Roxbury. That was the reason why, wasn’t it?

From the back of the group there was a light scoffing sound, followed by a voice and aura that Nitish did not recognise. “And the Empire thought they’d be easier separated.”

Startled, Nitish turned to look and gasped softly when a brown-haired runemaster moved to stand by an equally amused Zesiro, the other with his arms folded over his chest as he stood away from the guild.

“Idiotic, right?” Zesiro commented lightly.

Nitish pressed himself closer to Achyuta in surprise. That man, the runemaster…the colours…he looked like…

“Wow…” Blayden murmured before turning his attention to Varuna. “Triplets?”

Equally stunned, Varuna shook his head almost skittishly. “C-can’t be…”

“No,” the runemaster said as he clicked his tongue in a minor display of annoyance, while Zesiro continued to look amused. “We’re not related. I am known as Kalan and I was merely a replacement. A failed one at that.”

He suddenly flickered his gaze toward Nitish’s direction, and yet his purple coloured eyes didn’t fully focus on him. “And I understand why.”

Although the man’s appearance was startling, as was his aura, which he had been purposely suppressing, Nitish couldn’t sense any malice or ill-intent from him. And by the way Achyuta regarded him with a curious look rather than a suspicious one, he quickly deduce that he was no threat to him or anyone. But…

“Why do you…?”

“Look like you?” Kalan finished for him. However, he suddenly furrowed his brow and turned towards Zesiro, although not directly looking at him. “…How much do I look like him?”

“Pretty much in every way but colour,” Zesiro readily supplied. “You’re like a different colour palette, I suppose you can say.”

Kalan arched an eyebrow at him before shrugging in a somewhat dismissive manner before turning his attention back toward Nitish’s direction. “Right. Anyway, the reason I look like you is to catch your leader off guard.” He then indicated toward the Duscha with a wave of his hand, his stoic expression softening slightly. “He’s very kind.”

“He is,” Nitish immediately agreed.

“Saw him first,” Zesiro suddenly chimed in.

Kalan rolled his eyes. “Technically, you can see everything first.”

Those words brought a sense of confusion to everyone.

“He’s as blind as a bat,” Zesiro suddenly explained as he grinned with amusement and turned to hold up his middle finger a few inches from Kalan’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Kalan’s right eye gave an irritated twitch before he abruptly created a fireball in his right hand, turning to look fearsomely at the smirking Zesiro. “None.”

Once again, the guild was stunned into silence, confused as to behaviour of the two look-alikes and how they seemed to regard one another. They were a little surprised to say the least.

“What? You think I should be like my twin and get a runemaster of my own?” Zesiro suddenly questioned before scoffing. “A little clichéd, isn’t it?”

“I’d rather get hit by a sheep,” Kalan muttered.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Zesiro retorted quickly.

“Asshole.”

“Bitch.”

The two continued to glare at each other for a moment before both looked away, Zesiro shrugging idly and an expression of boredom appearing on Kalan’s face. The two of them then walked through the group, heading over to the mysterious Telem and Durriken, whom of which were standing next to the sealed door.

“Well?” Telem asked with a sense of familiarity toward the two as he folded his arms over his chest. “Learn anything?”

“It’s a right shit hole, alright,” Zesiro answered with a great amount of annoyance in his voice. “It’s worse than we thought. The entire place is poisonous. Don’t get me started on the monsters.”

Kalan made a slight noise of agreement as he reached up to idly tug at a strand of his brown hair. “There is definitely something powerful sealed in there somewhere,” he added.

Telem turned to him and furrowed his brow, seemingly displeased. “More powerful than the Titan?”

Kalan nodded his head, still toying with his hair. “Absolutely.”

“Huh…” Telem muttered as he looked down at the ground, seemingly in thought. “We might not have a choice.”

Kalan dropped his hand from his hair and shook his head. “I doubt that we can.”

“I see…” Telem murmured with a sigh as he dropped his arms from his chest, letting them rest idly by his sides. “What about the book?”

“It’s inside the Hall of Darkness,” Zesiro answered rather flippantly. “It was dropped in a struggle.”

Durriken arched an eyebrow. “Is it safe there?”

The corners of Zesiro’s mouth twitched, threatening to turn into a smirk. “There is a possibility that it’s been turned to stone.”

“Stone?” Durriken repeated as an expression of confusion appeared on his face.

“Shitty little flowers,” Zesiro said exasperatedly. “That’s all I’m going to say.”

“God damn it, I’m getting sick of asking!” Bryce suddenly yelled, quickly gaining everyone’s attention. “What the hell is going on now?”

The four that had been conversing so casual became quiet and turned to look at Bryce with comically bewildered expressions on their faces. However, before they could begin to answer him, there was a surprisingly soft and feminine chuckle.

“Allow me to explain.”

Immediately turning their attention toward the sealed doorway leading deeper into the Forgotten Capital, everyone was startled to see an elderly woman with grey-white hair tied in two braids that draped over her shoulders. She was short, seemingly fragile, as she clutched at a wooden walking stick with two hands. Standing behind her was a small group of Imperials, none of them threatening, all of them standing to attention.

Within the auras of Logre and Baldur, there was a spike of pure and utter surprise and realisation. And Baldur took a shaky step forward.

“…Grammy?”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today. It’s more of an info-dump, anyway. Next chapter will be filled with shippy, fluffy goodness, promise! Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy reading!

“…Grammy?” Baldur murmured as he took a shaky step forward. N-no, she couldn’t be. Grammy was dead. They told him, his retainers, that she had died. Years ago.

The elderly woman smiled warmly as she turned her attention toward him, a sense of gentle familiarity in her gaze. “It’s so good to see you again, Little One.”

Baldur could only stare at her with unblinking eyes for a few silent moments before shaking his in disbelief. She really was her. She was Grammy, the female elder that was like a grandmother to him.

“H-how?” he uttered when he felt Logre place a hand on his shoulder.

“There you are, you old bat,” Zesiro unexpectedly said, cutting off any reply Grammy was about to give him, prompting her to sigh and to roll her eyes in an exasperated manner. “Waiting to make a dramatic entrance?”

“My earlier appearance would only startle and confuse His Grace,” Grammy said in response to Zesiro, but keeping her gaze upon Baldur with a small smile on her lips. “I did not want that.”

She then made a sound akin to a ‘tut’ before turning to face Zesiro and those he was standing with. “Besides, dramatic entrances seem to be all the rage with you youngins’ at the moment.”

Zesiro shrugged dramatically, yet still somehow blasé about it all. “Meh, details.”

“We had to be dramatic to gain the trust of the Extremists,” Telem added as he folded his arms over his chest.

Grammy clicked her tongue. “Of course you did, dear.”

“Well, at least I had a normal introduction,” Kalan went on to say as he flicked his hair over his shoulder.

“By normal you mean being the first person he saw after regaining conscious from being kidnapped?” Zesiro said, pure scepticism in his voice.

Kalan made a dismissive motion with his hand. “As you said; details.”

Shuffling from where she was standing next to Wiglaf, the pink-haired imperial walked toward Grammy, stopping at a respectful distance away as she lowered her head slightly and folded her hands in front of her.

“Elder Gratiana…”

Grammy turned around and smiled warmly up at the pink-haired woman. “Ah, Yesmina. You’ve done well.”

Yesmina immediately perked up, seemingly both surprised and happy to hear those words. “R-really?”

“Of course, dear,” Grammy replied kindly, reaching over to give Yesmina a pat on the arm. “I knew you had it in you.”

“I…I wanted to be like Achyuta,” Yesmina admitted softly as she wrung her hands together in front of her.

Startled somewhat by her admission, Baldur glanced over his shoulder to where Achyuta was, finding him also surprised by Yesmina’s words. He soon looked confused, however. Instinctively, he reached out to wrap an arm around Nitish’s waist, allowing the blond to press his hands against his chest and rest against him. They shared a few quick, but silent words, Achyuta still looking baffled while Nitish only smiled softly and rested his cheek against his chest.

“You should be proud of yourself,” Grammy said, continuing to praise Yesmina for…whatever it was that she had done.

“What’s going on?” Baldur all but demanded as he turned to give Grammy, the elder he thought was dead, his full attention. “How are you-? Who are they-? What are-?”

He truly had so many questions that he didn’t even know where to start!

“I’m sorry, child,” Grammy said as she turned toward him, a sombre expression on her face, one that was also tinged with guilt. “The last ten years have been difficult for you, haven’t they?”

“They t-told me you were dead,” Baldur muttered.

“Yes,” Grammy said with a weary expression on her face. “They said that about everyone they felt weren’t on the same wavelength as them.”

Baldur unexpectedly felt nauseous. “What do you mean?”

Grammy gave him a sad smile before explaining. “Our Emperor, your father, did not want to leave you behind, leaving you in the hands of a restless council, but the journey through the lands was far too dangerous. The empire needed an heir. So, with a heavy heart, he left his precious son with those he felt he could trust.”

…Precious son…?

“Could trust?” Logre questioned as he tightened his hand on Baldur’s shoulder, seemingly trying to offer him a small form of comfort. “Did Emperor Afrodr hold suspicions toward the council?”

“Indeed,” Grammy answered promptly around a seemingly long-suffering sigh. “He could sense their desperation and restlessness. He didn’t trust that they held the best interest of the empire.”

“You can probably guess where this is going, right?” Zesiro suddenly piped up, striding forward a couple of steps to stand next to Grammy, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “After Emperor Afrodr failed to return, some of the elders decided to spend their time searching for other ways. They focused on training Prince Baldur to be the sacrifice.”

Grammy glanced over at Zesiro for a moment before sighing and nodding her head. “Yes. They knew that the one to perform the ritual would suffer the full effect of the curse. Far worse than any had ever seen.”

She then turned her full focus toward Baldur, once again smiling so sadly (with a hint of guilt). “I’m sorry, Little One,” she murmured. “You weren’t supposed to live.”

Baldur stiffened when he heard a series of gasps and curses from the Phaedron guild behind him. “Why me?”

“You are your father’s son,” Grammy said simply.

Baldur could feel himself begin to shake from the jumble of emotions that were running through him. He had learnt so much about the Empire he thought he knew and ruled, but didn’t. He, however, gritted his teeth and swallowed thickly. He was a prince, after all. He knew how to hold back his emotions.

He must admit, however, that it wasn’t easy. Especially when he felt Nitish and Achyuta move to the other side of him, Achyuta standing protective as Nitish placed his hand on his shoulder. Logre had slipped his own hand from Baldur’s other shoulder to rest against his back, between his shoulder blades, gently rubbing his hand up and down to offer him silent, subtle comfort.

“…T-the Titan?” Baldur questioned as he balled his hands into fists as his sides. “What did they really want with it?”

“Since our lands have decayed so much, some members of the council were looking for way to increase power and control, to dominate and ultimately possess the other lands,” Grammy explained with a distasteful expression on her face.

“Expanding their territories?” Achyuta questioned, his brow furrowing deeply.

“In a way,” Grammy answered. “There were some who, of course, didn’t agree with the conquering of other lands. The council was split into three factions. Those who wanted to purify the lands by any means necessary. Those who wished to increase the empire’s strengths while purifying the lands. And those who wished to work with the environment we had left, to work with nature rather than to fight it.”

Grammy then made a motion with her hand, motioning toward herself before indicating to the Imperials standing behind her, silent but at attention. Zesiro, Kalan, Telem, Durriken and even Yesmina were all indicated as well.

“We are of the third faction,” Grammy continued with a small smile as she lowered her hand, placing it atop of her wooden walking stick. “The first two factions, well, they held similar ideals. There was no other way. I, along with a handful of others, were forced to disappear, as it were. We’ve been in hiding, disguising ourselves ever since.”

“Hiding?” Baldur repeated. “Where?”

“While it is true that lands of the Cloudy Stronghold are barren and toxic,” Grammy said with a half-smile. “The land is not un-liveable, you could say. It does take a quite a bit of fussing about, but it’s not undoable.”

Baldur felt himself become surprisingly breathless…Living off the lands of the Cloudy Stronghold? Was that really possible? Could…could they really learn to live in harmony with the lands? Or were they truly doomed?

“Were you aware of how dangerous the Yggdrasil Titan truly was?” Logre suddenly asked.

Grammy shook her head ruefully. “We, unfortunately, could not get our hands on the information the other two fractions possessed. Both Zesiro and Kalan had tried, but with little success. They couldn’t afford to be exposed. There was…little that we could do but hope that our emperor had set into motion the series of events needed to protect Prince Baldur and everyone who resides within the Cloudy Stronghold.”

So…even they were hopeless during that time…

“Um…” Varuna murmured as he took a few timid steps forward. “Do…do you know much about the labyrinths?”

Grammy turned to regard Varuna with a look of curiosity. “Hm?”

“It’s just…There’s something that’s been bothering me,” Varuna admitted after a brief moment of hesitation. “The labyrinths. They all possessed tablets that allowed us to venture through all the lands. We wouldn’t have been able to without them. But who or what created the labyrinths? They seemed to have been created to seal away not just the Titan.”

“That’s a question that I’m afraid I cannot answer,” Grammy said as she once again shook her head regretfully. “For as long as anyone can remember, in all the records; there has been no mention of what could have been here previously. The empire has always been here. We know nothing else.”

“The Hall of Darkness might hold some clues to what existed here before us,” Zesiro added as he folded his arms over his chest, a half-smirk on his lips. “But they won’t be easy to find.”

“Hall of Darkness?” Nitish murmured softly as he immediately turned to look questioningly at Achyuta.

Achyuta, however, looked pale as he tried to piece together a sentence to explain just what the Hall of Darkness was. “It’s…”

“Achyuta.”

Grammy suddenly calling him by name caused Achyuta to tense and immediately stand up straight, turning to give the elderly woman his full attention. “Ah, yes?”

“You were always considered by the council to be an oddity amongst the imperials,” Grammy said, her expression stoic at first before soothing out into a gentle, motherly warmth. “I, however, think of that as a compliment.”

“P-pardon?”

“You are an inspiration for all Imperials,” Grammy went on to say, her voice sincere yet strong. “You stood up for your own beliefs and acted accordingly. You have the strength to think for yourself and to think of others as more than fellow soldiers. Out of everyone here, out of everyone within the empire – you are the reason why the Titan was defeated.”

Achyuta openly gaped at Grammy for a few silent moments before spluttering with disbelief and embarrassment. “N-no, that’s not true.”

Grammy held up her hand, signalling for silence. “I have heard of your sacrifice within the Echoing Library,” she said, causing Achyuta to wince subtly and for Nitish to automatically reach out to hold onto his arm, the two pained from the memories.

“Although it was painful for those who have come to love you at the time,” Grammy continued, pausing briefly to grant Nitish a small, understanding smile. “It was ultimately what drove them forward to defeat the Cradle Guardian. Your reappearance in their lives was what they needed, the hope to push forward. That is what I believe.”

Achyuta and Nitish remained silent, allowing for Grammy’s words to sink in and register. Slowly, they turned to look at each other, Achyuta slightly breathless in disbelief while Nitish was teary-eyed, holding onto his arm tightly. Nitish then suddenly pushed forward and pressed himself against Achyuta’s chest, nuzzling his head under his chin. Achyuta, of course, immediately wrapped his arms around the slender blond, holding him as close as possible.

“I am eternally grateful to you,” Grammy pressed on, smiling warmly at their affection for one another. “And happy with how far you have come. I hope that you will continue to guide other imperials by example, yes? You and your soulmate.”

“Yes,” Achyuta said as he continued to hold Nitish warmly in his arms, the runemaster happily cuddling up to him, unconcerned by the mass of people watching. “We will do that.”

“I wish for nothing more than for my Imperials to live happy, healthy lives,” Grammy added.

“They will,” Nitish said from Achyuta’s arms, a radiant smile on his lips. “With Tharsis’ help.”

Grammy nodded her head in both acceptance and gratitude before turning her attention back to Baldur. “Little Prince?”

Baldur jumped slightly. “Y-yes?”

Grammy smiled openly and warmly as she indicated to those around her. “We will forever be by your side. Feel free to ask whatever it is that you wish of us.”

Baldur couldn’t verbally respond. All he could do was to simply nod his head.

“Let us all return to Tharsis,” Nitish said kindly.

Grammy nodded her head. “Yes. Let us return home.”

… … … … …

The flight through the four lands to reach Tharsis was a relatively short one. Achyuta had slept through most of it with Nitish curled up by his side. He wasn’t the only one who had gotten much needed rest. Ciaran had taken command of Logre’s airship, allowing him to get some rest while also watching over his highness. Xander, however, refused to rest. Instead he kept Ciaran company during their flight.

Bryce and Varuna took turns piloting Espiritu, having bundled Kirjonen on board in order to make room for Roxbury aboard the Duscha. With Varuna taking care of Kirjonen, Isiah focused entirely on Roxbury. Falkner, of course, piloted Duscha throughout the entirety of the flight, keeping a close eye upon his precious cargo. Wiglaf piloted her own airship, she and Yesmina headed out first to ensure that the path was safe for them to travel unimpeded.

Elder Gratiana and her loyalists had their own airship, so they followed quietly at the back, ensuring that they don’t alarm anyone within Tharsis with their arrival.

To be back within the safety of Tharsis was immensely reassuring. Especially after spending time in that…terrible place known as the Hall of Darkness.

Achyuta would…have nightmares about that place for a few more nights yet.

Prince Baldur…had immediately retired to his room at the clinic. He…needed time to think on his own for a while. Achyuta was naturally worried for him. He had been through so much and learnt that it was all due to another’s selfish desire of power. However, Achyuta knew he couldn’t smother his prince with concern. Firstly, Prince Baldur would object to him wholly and secondly, it might cause him to close off his emotions in order to prove that he was really all right. And thirdly…Achyuta didn’t know what to say to comfort His Highness.

Also, he wasn’t the one meant to comfort His Highness.

Roxbury was promptly placed in a newly furnished room upstairs and had been unconscious during the entirety of the trip back to safety. Isiah spent a good hour watching over him and healing him upon their return. Thankfully, any internal damaged Roxbury had sustained from that…er, sheep attack (Nightmare Ram was what Kalan was calling it) was minimal and easy to repair. He was going to be out of commission for a while though. For real this time. Isiah and Mahalah were going to make sure of it.

In fact, Achyuta dared to say that _every one_ of the guild was going to make sure of it.

Kirjonen was also placed in a room upstairs. He insisted that he was fine, but after a stern look from not only Isiah, but Varuna and surprisingly Nitish, he relented, agreeing to spend the night and day under their care.

Despite having been in an airship crash, Ciaran was relatively unharmed. He had a few minor bruises and scrapes, but thankfully nothing serious like the previous injury he sustained at the hands of an Imperial with a driveblade. Even so, he chose to linger at the clinic, sticking rather close to Xander. There was no doubt he was going to be on edge for the next few days, waiting for something else to happen.

In fact, all of them were going to be on edge.

Elder Gratiana and her loyal followers were led to the Grand Mark’s Court where she could reside and rest for a while. She also wished to speak with the Count, to reassure him that she and her knights were to abide by the rules of Tharsis and to be of assistance to him and his residents in whatever manner he saw fit. Count was more than pleased to be able to broker a form of peace between the Empire and Tharsis. That was all he wanted in the first place.

The other significant participants of their adventure within the Cloudy Stronghold had also returned to Tharsis. His brother, Kalan, Telem and Durriken. They were all dragged back to the clinic as well. Yesmina, on the other hand, was practically crashed-tackled by Wiglaf, who promised to ‘take good care’ of her. The younger brothers of the guild chortled with a sense of knowingness, convincing Isiah not to try to interfere. Funnily enough, they managed to do so. Only after a stern command that if any injury should arise to tell him immediately.

He had to take Wiglaf’s promise as truth as he was a very busy and appreciated having one less patient to deal with. After hearing what the other four had done for his guildmates, Isiah felt obligated to check on their well-being as well. After he checked up on everyone else of his guild first, though.

After getting the all-clear from Isiah, Telem and Durriken had slipped outside into the back garden, staying within sight, but not getting in the way. Kalan had chosen to stay inside and loiter about, unconcerned of his surroundings. Well, he was…

There, ah, appeared to be a slight stand-off between Zoran and Kalan, but the way they were regarding each other wasn’t stand-offish…if that made any sense. Zoran was looking up at Kalan with fearless curiosity while Kalan had crouched down to his level, his hands on his knees. After a few moments of staring, Kalan lifted his hands from his knees to reach out toward Zoran. First, he poked the vessel’s cheeks with his index fingers. He then pinched his cheeks.

“I may not be able to visibly see you,” Kalan said to Zoran, his expression and voice rather indifferent. “But I can tell you’re adorable.”

Zoran simply blinked as he allowed Kalan to continue to pinch his cheeks, the two seemingly fascinated with each other.

Deadpanning, Achyuta wondered if he should interfere in some manner, but he was pulled from his thoughts and observations by the sound of the door to Isiah’s office opening and the head medic himself barking out an order.

“If I find you wearing that ridiculous armour again, I will beat you senseless,” Isiah threatened as Zesiro ambled from his office.

Wearing casual civilian clothing, Zesiro waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder as he wandered over toward the sitting area, a slight limp in his movements. “Dutifully noted,” he said as he plopped himself down upon on of the couches, lounging on it casually.

“Isiah,” Sir Logre said firmly as he placed a hand on Isiah’s back and began to fearlessly push him toward the stairs. “I think it’s time for _you_ to get some rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isiah murmured. He must be tired indeed as he offered no resistance as he was pushed up stairs to their living quarters.

Achyuta looked over at his brother, studying him for a moment before silently approaching. He had so many questions he wanted to ask him. There was one, however, that bothered him the most.

“Zesiro,” Achyuta said as he sat on the couch opposite his brother. “Why were we separated?”

Zesiro propped his feet up onto the coffee table. “Because I’m a nosy little shit.”

“That’s only half of it,” Kalan unexpectedly said as he released his hold on Zoran and stood up tall. He then lifted his hand to poke Zesiro on the top of his head, earning himself a loud sigh of annoyance from the other.

“Because some nutcase thought that twins were a sign that the sun and the moon had aligned, granting a gift from the heavens to the earth,” Zesiro explained in a dramatic fashion before sighing loudly and slumping against the couch cushions, his head rolling back to look up at the ceiling. “Or some shit like that. Don’t ask me where he got that idea from.”

Achyuta found himself furrowing his brow lightly in confusion while Nitish and Varuna moved to stand behind him, lingering a foot or so away from the back of the couch.

“Sounds like the same man who trained Varuna and I,” Nitish murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Did he pick on all the twins?” Varuna asked quietly, seemingly talking to himself like his brother.

“Anyway,” Zesiro drawled as he rolled his wrist in a dismissive motion, seemingly had heard the two brothers musing to themselves but ignoring them for now and focused his attention back to Achyuta. “You had frailer health than me, so they figured that I got all the strength and stamina. They pulled us apart when we were just kids and thought it would be best for my benefit that I didn’t associate with my younger twin. I was forced into training to become an Imperial. A ruthless one. They didn’t actually think you would live, Achyuta.”

The way Zesiro explained that…it was all so straight-forward and blunt. It made Achyuta grimace slightly. He wasn’t expecting it, to be quite honest. And yet…it felt true.

“Y-yes,” he murmured as he absentmindedly rubbed at his chest with his hand. “I remember being quite ill as a child.”

Surprisingly, Zesiro continued without being prompted to do so. “When you turned ten, they were surprised and decided to make you an imperial anyway. One of those guard posting ones. You know, the ones who simply stood around in the labyrinths and watched out for threats? Very little fighting. They kinda left you do your own thing, silently hoping that you would somehow discover something useful while trudging through the Echoing Library.”

Achyuta found himself frowning deeply. That was true. They mostly left him alone whenever he patrolled the Echoing Library or any of the other buildings within the Cloudy stronghold. It was kind of…grating to realise they thought so little of him.

“So that’s…” he murmured before shaking his head abruptly. “But that doesn’t explain why they told me you were dead. You had supposedly died before I trained to become an Imperial.”

“As I said before, I was a nosy little shit,” Zesiro said as a rather wicked smirk appeared on his lips. “I overheard some potent gossip and soon after that, I found the key to the locked door in the Golden Deer Keep. I hid it and pretended I hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. Naturally, they were pretty pissed off. Ol’ Granny was the one who helped me fake my death, allowing me to continue investigating a way to stop the titan from existing.”

That explained a lot, and yet…Achyuta felt that he had left something out.

“…And?” Kalan unexpectedly prompted, frowning in Zesiro’s direction.

“Nothing more,” Zesiro stated quickly.

“And to protect his younger brother,” Kalan said as he reached over and slapped Zesiro across the back of the head. “Don’t be a macho dick.”

“Oi, shut up!” Zesiro practically snarled at him.

Achyuta couldn’t help but allow a smile to slip across his lips. Protective while trying not to appear that way. Down-playing his heroism. That was the twin brother he remembered from so long ago.

“Wait,” Varuna suddenly muttered as he focused in on Zesiro. “You were an Imperial before the age of ten?”

Zesiro looked at Varuna in an exasperated manner, giving the indication that the answer to his question should be obvious. “They like to start them young, don’t you know?” he retorted.

Varuna immediately winced before looking at the floor. “Right…”

“Anyway,” Zesiro continued as he allowed his head to roll back onto the couch’s headrest once more. “Found nothing about the Titan, but quite a bit about the Hall of Darkness. That instead became my focus. During the chaos of the titan, they found the key, unfortunately.”

Zesiro then paused for a moment, seemingly mulling over something before a smirk appeared on his lips. He then lifted his head up and looked squarely at Achyuta. It seemed that whatever he was going to tell him next, he took great delight in.

“Truthfully, they never expected Logre to side with you and your guild, nor did they believe you were any threat to their plans,” Zesiro said. “But after you defeated the Titan, majority of Imperials decided to side with Tharsis and you guys, turning on the elders who demanded retribution. Outnumbered, they were forced to turn to some outlandish schemes.”

…Outlandish, indeed.

“It was easy to fool them into thinking we were on their side,” Zesiro continued, his grin growing more wickedly amused, if that was possible. “Who knew you were such a shit-stirrer? I’m jealous.”

Achyuta idly scratched his cheek. He hadn’t meant to cause a coup for the empire. He had wanted to serve his Emperor’s true belief, protect his prince, aide his fellow Imperials to a life of peace and…to live a life of his own choosing, with Nitish. A rebellion was the last thing on his mind. But…he was somewhat glad that he did.

Honestly, no wonder Neolani and the other elders hated him.

“What of Neolani?” Achyuta couldn’t help but ask. “She was trained to become the next superior?”

“Yup. To take Prince Baldur’s place when he died from the curse,” Zesiro said around a scoff of annoyance before letting his head flop back once again. “Anyway, I’m sure you get the gist of it now.”

In other words, he was in no mood to answer any more questions.

That was fine. Achyuta would just have to speak with him again another time.

Leaning back into his seat, Achyuta found himself musing on the woman who was at the centre of all his and his guild’s problems. While he hated Neolani for everything she had done, hated how she hurt so many people, a small part of him felt…sorry for her. For the past ten years she had been told of her greatness and trained to become the next leader of the Empire. She would have been told constantly of her ‘destiny’ and how weak and pathetic classes outside the Imperials were. She knew no better. She had been brain-washed. Like a puppet.

That was kinda sad, really.

“I almost feel sorry for her,” Achyuta murmured as he pushed himself to his feet.

Zesiro snorted loudly and lifted his head. “Seriously?”

Still…he hated her. Hated what she was. Hated what she stood for.

“I said almost,” Achyuta said as he reached out to Nitish, pulling his blond-haired runemaster close, holding him warmly in his arms. “She’s gone now.”

“Ugh,” Zesiro suddenly whined as he let his head drop back to rest against the couch headrest. “Are they always this cutesy-wootsy?”

“Twenty-four hours a day,” Bryce unexpectedly answered from across the room. “Better get used to it.”

Wrapping his arms around Nitish’s slender waist, Achyuta turned to regard his brother once more. “I know this may not be necessary,” he said before levelling his twin with a stern look. “But if you upset Nitish in anyway, I will beat the shit out of you.”

Zesiro simply stared at him in a subtly bewildered fashion while everyone within hearing range became quiet, they, too, appearing gobsmacked.

“…Noted,” Zesiro said after a minute, giving him a small salute.

Nitish simply laughed softly as he nuzzled his head under Achyuta’s chin.

“Um…” Varuna suddenly murmured. “Neolani…she’s dead, right? I mean, she won’t be coming back again, will she?”

Achyuta turned to Varuna and tried to give him a somewhat reassuring look. “I saw her turn to stone before my very eyes,” he said.

“Rather anti-climactic,” Zesiro muttered under his breath, which was promptly ignored by everyone.

Varuna still looked uneasy, though, as he made his way over to Bryce to press himself against his side. “I hope she’s gone for good,” he murmured as Bryce wrapped his arms around him as comfort.

Achyuta hoped so as well. If she returned…No, it didn’t matter. Everyone knew of her now. Knew what she had done. No one would allow her to simply return and haunt them once again. She had made a lot of enemies.

They were at least safe from her.


	22. Chapter 22

That heavy murkiness of unconsciousness…never got any easier. Roxbury should know. The jumbling of thoughts, the sensation that your brain was literally throbbing in your skull, the heaviness of limbs; it was a truly horrible feeling.

With a low groan slipping past his lips, Roxbury forced his eyes to open. His vision was blurry, everything out of alignment. But he could make out a ceiling and he knew that he was inside somewhere. Somewhere warm and comfortable.

The Researchers’ Clinic.

He was home.

“Roxbury?”

Rolling his head to the side, Roxbury could make out the form of a certain purple-haired dancer. Despite the blurriness of his vision, he could see that Mahalah was pale with worry, dark rings of exhaustion under his eyes.

“Mahalah?” he questioned.

Mahalah immediately breathed a sigh of relief. “I'm so glad you're all right,” he murmured as he reached out to run his fingers through Roxbury’s hair, seeming comforting the both of them. “When you returned to us, I thought...Your lips were as pale as snow.”

“I'm sorry for worrying you,” Roxbury immediately replied with a slightly croaky voice. “…Again.”

“This had better be the last time,” Mahalah said to him, his tone both joking yet serious.

“I’ll try,” Roxbury returned before frowning softly. “What happened?”

Slowly, Mahalah began to explain to him what had occurred. About Kirjonen’s poisoning, about Ciaran being stranded in an airship crash in the Windy Plains, about Falkner’s near kidnapping, about how the guild was forced to part in four different groups, all with an important agenda of their own.

Roxbury listened closely, absolutely dumbfounded by it all. So much had happened and…he wasn’t there, wasn’t around to offer his guild guidance and support like he should have.

But…that was the point of his kidnapping, wasn’t it? The Empire had hoped that without him, the leader, the Phaedron Guild would crumble from the lack of guidance and direction. They wanted them to flounder from the uncertainty of chaos and become enraged by his kidnapping.

His guild, however, was stronger than that.

How foolish of the Empire to think that they would be so easily defeated.

Mahalah then went on to explain how Zesiro and the other seeming antagonists were in fact working for another elder, and elderly woman known as Elder Gratiana. A woman that Baldur called Grammy. She had been forced to hide away, stay silent in the background while trying desperately to stop the resurrection of the Titan.

For some reason, hearing that Zesiro was actually part of a shadow Empire hoping to protect Prince Baldur and prevent the Titan’s release made Roxbury feel relieved.

And then, Mahalah went on to tell him how the Empire had wanted Baldur to…die. How they spent ten years training him to become the ultimate sacrifice to the Titan, all without his knowledge. All while training Neolani to take his place.

That…that made Roxbury angry. Such callousness was truly sicking. He was glad that Baldur was under the care of the Phaedron Guild now. No one was going to use him again. Ever.

“Ah, it’s good to know,” Roxbury said as he sent Mahalah a smile. “That my guild can function without me.”

Mahalah gave him a tight-lipped smile in return. “…It wasn’t easy,” he admitted.

Roxbury sighed deeply as he closed his eyes and rested for a moment. However, he soon found himself opening his eyes again. Behind his eyelids, all he could see where red-stained walls. He didn’t want to lie in this bed a moment longer. He couldn’t stand the silence. He needed to get up.

Rolling over onto his side, Roxbury reached out a hand toward Mahalah. “Help me up.”

Mahalah immediately frowned at him in blatant disapproval. “I don’t think-”

“Please,” Roxbury whispered as he looked up into Mahalah’s eyes. “I…need to see everyone.”

“…Alright,” Mahalah said after a moment of silence and reached out to take his hand. “But take it easy.”

Although his body ached in protest, Roxbury managed to stagger out of bed and to his feet. With the use of a crutch for one arm and Mahalah guiding him by the other, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom. As they walked into the hallway, heading toward the stairs, Roxbury could hear the murmuring of voices and he immediately felt a great sense of relief.

He needed to hear his guild mates as well as see them. After spending hours in that Hall of Darkness, under the oppression of haunted silence, surrounded by imposing red stained walls - he really needed to be with his guild again.

“Roxbury?!”

Roxbury managed to make it half-way down the stairs before he was surrounded and practically set upon by his guildmates, all of them gathering around protectively, firing off questions about his health, all while also fussing over him.

“Haha, easy now,” Roxbury said as he was practically carried down the rest of the stairs. “I’m still a little sore.”

“Should you be up so soon?” Nitish questioned him, nervously checking over his injuries.

“It’s ok,” Roxbury replied with a small smile at his concern. “I wanted to check on everyone.”

“What in the world happened to you?” Varuna was the one to ask the question that was no doubt on everybody’s lips.

It was a truly understandable question. It was just…he didn’t want to talk about it yet. Not right at the moment at least. Not in the next couple of days. Maybe later.

“I’ll explain it all later, I promise,” Roxbury said in a pacifying manner before turning his attention back toward Nitish, granting him a serious look. “But…Nitish, sorry, I don’t want to do this but I’m going to have to forbid you from entering the Hall of Darkness. You…don’t need to go in there. Frankly, I don’t want anyone going there.”

Standing next to the surprised runemaster, Achyuta immediately nodded his head. “Yes, I agree.”

Nitish looked slightly unsettled, no doubt by their protectiveness toward him and their wariness toward the aforementioned labyrinth. “…I understand.”

“They don’t have the key to get inside anyway,” a familiar voice suddenly stated.

Roxbury immediately snapped his head in the direction of the voice, unable to hide his relief upon seeing Achyuta’s twin brother lounging comfortable upon one of the couches. “Zesiro? You’re here?” he said as he slowly approached him, noticing a certain runemaster as well. “Kalan, too, I see.”

“Yo,” Zesiro said casually. “That medic of yours insisted I hang around to recover.”

“Did he now?” Roxbury murmured, truly relieved to see that the two who had helped him through his ordeal were also safe and sound.

However, after allowing his gaze to wander over Zesiro, noting how different he looked without his armour, he also noticed that he had bandages around his feet and ankles. His legs had been injured? Did Zesiro receive those injuries during his confrontation of Neolani? Or…was it from that green ‘stuff’ on the second floor? If so…he had been running around injured…

“Your feet?” he muttered as an expression of guilt appeared on his face. “So that green…?”

Zesiro immediately waved a dismissive hand at him. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, brushing off his concern.

“Pfft,” Kalan unexpectedly snorted as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned his hips against the back of the couch. “Look at you,” he said to Zesiro. “Trying to look and sound badass.”

“Your jealousy is unbecoming of you,” Zesiro replied promptly.

“You weren’t badass in front of that medic.”

“No one is badass in front of him and gets away with it.”

Roxbury felt a smile tug on the corners of his lips. “So, even you are terrified of Isiah?” he asked Zesiro.

“Fuck, who isn’t?” Zesiro immediately responded as he lifted his feet up off the coffee table and placed them on the floor. “I may be an egomaniacal prat with a mysterious superiority complex, but I'm not _crazy.”_

Roxbury couldn't help but laugh. He, however, quickly gathered himself as he looked at Zesiro.

“Admiring my handsome looks?” Zesiro questioned him with a somewhat self-absorbed grin.

Roxbury rolled his eyes slightly before tilting his head to the side. “I’m just trying to think of a way to say thank you,” he said. “For protecting me during the Hall of Darkness. I know I wouldn’t have made it through without you.”

Silence reigned as Zesiro stared at him for the longest time, no doubt trying to comprehend Roxbury’s compassion and sincerity. He sighed and roughly ran a hand through his hair in an exasperated manner. “You’re a maddening person,” he said as he hauled himself to his feet and turned to face Roxbury fully, paying little attention to the large guild standing directly behind him.

Roxbury decided not to make the retort of _him_ being the one who had been maddening the entire time he had known him.

For a few moments longer, Zesiro continued to look at him, his expression unreadable. He unexpectedly sighed again and took a step forward, to stand right in front of Roxbury. Although his guildmates bristled at the close proximity, seemingly unready to forgive the other Imperial just yet, Roxbury remained firm.

He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when Zesiro suddenly smirked at him. “Hm, I guess that’s why I like you,” he said as he abruptly lifted a hand to take Roxbury’s chin in a surprisingly gentle grip.

Roxbury parted his lips in surprise, ready to question his motives, when the words were abruptly lost due to Zesiro leaning forward and kissing him on the lips! Frozen in shock, Roxbury felt his eyes widen as he stared into Zesiro’s face, the other with his eyes close, seemingly enjoying the sensation of their lips against each other’s.

In all honesty, Roxbury was tempted to participate in the kiss. Behind him, though, a series of shrills of utter protectiveness and fury erupted. Zesiro pulled away, not before running his tongue over Roxbury’s lips, and leapt back, just as a flurry of Roxbury’s guildmates launched themselves at him

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on Roxbury again, you stupid, fucking bastard!”

“Don't hold back!” Zesiro all by gleefully urged. “Let me know what your true feelings!”

“You don't fucking want to know how I truly feel!”

“I’ll go for the head, you go for the feet!”

“Right!”

Over the chaos of the squabbling and death threats, Kalan sighed loudly and turned toward to where Nitish and Achyuta were standing. “He just kissed him again, didn’t he?”

Achyuta blinked before turning to give Kalan his attention. “A-again?”

Kalan scrunched up his nose and seemed to pout slightly, even though his expression remained impassive. “That’s the fourth time, asshole.”

An expression of surprise immediately appeared on Achyuta’s face as he glanced over toward Roxbury, Nitish covering his mouth in shock next to him. “Ah…”

“N-no, nothing like that at all,” Roxbury insisted, even though he was fairly certain he was blushing fiercely.

“Pah,” Kalan scoffed in an exasperated, yet somehow blasé manner. “The first one, maybe. But you totally initiated the second one. And the third? You weren’t exactly fighting back.”

“That’s because I couldn’t!” Roxbury said calmly, but loudly. No, he did not say that in a high pitched voice, thank you very much!

Kalan rolled his eyes and waved a hand in the air in a flippant manner. “Excuses, excuses. Honestly, you should have seen _this_ one coming.”

“What are you saying?” Roxbury continued to splutter in a highly undignified manner. “Didn’t you say you were as blind as a bat?”

“I have wonderful hearing,” Kalan explained. “I could easily hear your lips smacking against each other’s.”

“That’s not true!”

“Yes, deny all you want,” Kalan said before he nonchalantly smacked Nitish’s arm with the back of his hand, startling the blond enough to earn a squeak of surprise from him. “Am I lying, pretty boy?”

“U-um…” Nitish stuttered as a deep blush, no doubt similar to the one that Roxbury was wearing, appeared on his cheeks and he looked to the floor in embarrassment, wringing his hands together in front of him. “N-no.”

Despite the deadpan expression on his face, Kalan still managed to look triumphant. “There, see?”

“Pretty boy?” Zesiro suddenly snorted.

Looking over Kalan’s shoulder, Roxbury saw that Zesiro had his arm hooked around wiggling Blayden’s neck, effortlessly keeping the blond off the ground as he blocked Bryce’s still sheathed sword with his other hand. He seemed unconcerned that he had several other guild members circling him like a pack of wolves, looking for the opportunity to pounce on him as well.

“You look like him,” Zesiro said to Kalan. “Are you implying that you’re a pretty boy, too?”

“No,” Kalan said as he flicked his hair over his shoulder with a dramatic flair. “I am obviously fucking gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” Zesiro managed to scoff out in a purely sarcastic manner, still effortlessly holding Blayden in a chokehold. “And I’m a fucking delight to have around.”

Kalan immediately whirled around to face Zesiro. “Ok, now that’s complete and utter bullshit.”

Roxbury was in a state of pure embarrassment and bewilderment when he felt a slight jab to his side. He skittishly turned to see that Mahalah was the one who had poked him. And…Mahalah was smiling at him. But Roxbury had known the purple-haired dancer long enough to sense that beneath his smile was a sense of protectiveness and irritation.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Roxbury?” he asked him sweetly. Too sweetly.

Roxbury felt a bead of sweat slip from his temple. “Er…”

He didn’t…really want to go into details.

“That maze sends people crazy,” Roxbury muttered unconvincingly.

“Uh huh,” Mahalah replied as he continued to smile. “I’m sure it does.”

…Shit.

“Kalan,” Mahalah unexpectedly called out as he walked over toward the brown-haired runemaster, immediately pulling him away from his verbal battle with Zesiro. “I would love to hear what you’ve learnt.”

Kalan seemed to muse to himself for a moment as he lifted his hand to toy with a strand of his hair. “Want me to start by telling you about the flirting?”

“Roxbury flirting?” Mahalah repeated as he folded his arms across his torso. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Kalan gave a somewhat nonchalant shrug. “To be fair most of it went over his head.”

“Doesn’t surprise me at all,” Mahalah said as he continued to smile. “Go on.”

“I’ll start with my favourite. Word for word; ‘I feel so naked without my armour’.”

“Dear god, Roxbury? Really?”

“Zesiro, of course, nearly had an aneurysm from that image.”

“I can imagine!”

Roxbury wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he knew one thing. He…was never going to hear the end of it, was he?

… … … … …

As soon as everyone had returned safely to Tharsis, Baldur was guided back to the Researchers’ Clinic, where he promptly shut himself into his room and collapsed onto the bed. He felt…ill. Physically ill. His heart fluttering uncomfortably in his chest. His body shaking uncontrollably.

And his mind…

His mind was reeling.

Dead…they wanted him dead. His so-called loyal retainers had been silently plotting his demise the entire time. They knew…they knew full well that the Yggdrasil Curse would affect him the most and they had planned on it killing him. With him dead, they could control the Yggdrasil Titan and, ultimately, control the four lands. They believed so deeply that they would succeed that they had trained another (for ten years!) to take his place.

But Grammy…Grammy had tried to protect him. But she couldn’t. The other elders…they wouldn’t let her.

Logre had been used, too. Logre, Achyuta, Xander…they even tried to use Nitish against his will.

Roxbury, Ciaran, Kirjonen, even Falkner and Wiglaf.

The Empire…had hurt so many people.

Lifting his head from the pillow, Baldur gaze bleary-eyed toward the door of his room. Outside, he could hear voices. Two of them. Both familiar.

“I’ll check on your prince,” Isiah said. “Go visit Kirjonen.”

“Isiah…” Logre muttered, seemingly unwilling to leave his post outside the door.

“Go,” Isiah ordered, leaving no room for argument.

There was a deep sigh, followed by the sound of footsteps leading away. A mere moment later, the door to his room opened.

Somehow finding the strength, Baldur pushed himself up off the bed just as Isiah stepped into the room. He didn’t look at the medic, even as he moved to stand in the centre of the room, the door falling silently close behind him.

“I’m fine,” Baldur muttered as he hauled himself to his feet and moved to stand in front of the desk situated under the window. He kept his back toward Isiah as he looked outside, but because of the darkness of the night, he could see Isiah’s reflection easily.

And he was simply staring at him.

“S-stop looking at me like that,” Baldur muttered as he placed his hands on top of the desk in a bid to ground himself, to keep himself from physically trembling. “I’m completely fine!”

Isiah sighed deeply. “You’re not fine.”

Baldur gritted his teeth as he lowered his head. “…Of course I’m not,” he murmured before a streak of anger shot through him and he spun around. “I’m supposed to be dead! They…they spent the last ten years getting ready for my death! How can I possibly be fine with that?!”

Isiah continued to look at him, not remotely bothered by his outburst. “Your anger is completely reasonable,” he said instead.

“Of course it is!” Baldur continued to shout before another strange feeling washed over him. It was a lonely, empty feeling. It made him feel sick to the stomach. “I’ve…I’ve been lied to my whole life…”

“No,” Isiah immediately and firmly stated. “I’ve never lied to you. Logre has never lied to you. And neither has anyone else here.”

Baldur opened his mouth in an attempt to refute that, but for some reason, he couldn’t find anything to say. He couldn’t outright dispute that. He wanted to, though. He wanted to say that everyone was against him. He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe that it was him against the world.

But…he couldn’t. He instead turned back to the window, desperately looking outside.

“Come here,” Isiah suddenly ordered, beckoning Baldur to move over to him.

But Baldur shook his head stubbornly. His pride had been damaged enough. He won’t allow Isiah to offer him any further comfort…

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, Baldur spun around and suddenly threw himself toward Isiah, the medic opening his arms and holding him close. With a sob lodging itself in his throat, he buried his face into Isiah’s chest as he desperately grasped at the material of his coat against his back. Isiah wrapped his arm tightly around his shoulders as he threaded his fingers of his other hand through his hair.

“What do I do?” Baldur sobbed against Isiah’s chest. “I don’t know what to do…”

Isiah gently raked his fingers through his hair, somehow soothing him. “One step at a time. It’s going to be fine now.”

“H-how?” Baldur murmured as tears continued to flow, unrelenting.

“The Imperials are welcomed to live within Tharsis and the Windy Plains,” Isiah said as he continued to hold him, to comfort him. “They are safe here. You are safe here. They can learn what it means to live their lives, to think for themselves through exploration. And you, you should lead by example. Show them what it really means to be an Imperial. Show them how to be great like your father.”

Gradually, the tears begin to slow and the ache in his chest began to subside. Lifting his face away from Isiah’s tear soaked chest, Baldur instead rested his cheek against his shoulder as he stared out the window. There, despite the darkness of the night, he knew that the Yggdrasil Tree stood on the horizon.

“An explorer…” he murmured.

“That is your father’s final wish,” Isiah said as he continued to hold him, still idly running his fingers through his hair. “You were in his thoughts until the very end.”

Baldur chewed on his bottom lip lightly as a fresh wave of tears threatened to fall.

“Do you want to visit him?” Isiah suddenly asked him.

Baldur thought for a moment, but shook his head slowly. “…I…I’m not worthy yet,” he said as he rested his cheek against Isiah’s chest, turning away from the window.

Isiah made a noise of understanding. “Take your time,” he said. “You should get some rest.”

Baldur found himself tightening his grip on Isiah’s coat. He did feel tired. Utter exhausted, but he…didn’t want to be alone. He…hadn’t felt such warmth in a long time…

“Stay,” Baldur murmured, his eyes slowly drifting close. “Please.”

“Sure.”

… … … … …

After getting the all clear from Isiah about his health, Ciaran immediately went in search for Xander. When they had all returned to Tharsis, they are congregated at the Researchers’ Clinic. After being forced to separated, Guild Phaedron wanted everyone back together for comfort and reassurance.

And Ciaran was glad for it. Waiting on Logre’s airship as Xander and the others left to go rescue Roxbury was…a very lonely experience. They were gone for hours and Ciaran had spent every minute of that time waiting and worrying, pacing back and forth as there was nothing else he could do.

He knew how strong and determined they were. But that didn’t stop the little ‘what ifs’ from popping up in his mind. What if only half of them came back? What if Xander didn’t? What if none of them did?

Thankfully, they all returned. Everyone was back and safe. Couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.

“Hey, Xander,” Ciaran said when he found said Imperial in one of the clinic’s rooms, trying on some of the civilian clothing Isiah insisted that Imperials wore while residing within Tharsis. “How yeh feeling?”

“Fine,” Xander answered immediately as he set about rolling up the long sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. He paused momentarily to look over at Ciaran, his eyes flittering over him for a moment to check him over for any signs of injuries. “You?”

“A few aches and pains, to be honest,” Ciaran admitted as he scratched the back of his neck idly. “I don’t think I’m cut out for exploration.”

Watching silently as Xander continued to arrange his clothing, trying to become more comfortable in the much lighter garments, Ciaran couldn’t help but notice how muscular he really was. His armour was rather menacing, to be honest. Built to exaggerate the Imperial’s power and strength. To cover them head to toe. To look as formable as possible.

However, Xander looked…stronger without his armour. But not menacing. He had powerful arms, a strong back and a taut chest.

“Yeh look better without your armour,” Ciaran found himself complimenting.

Tugging a sleeve up to his elbow, Xander looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Ciaran murmured as he shuffled awkwardly on his feet. “More approachable.”

“Hmm,” Xander hummed idly in thought for a moment before saying, “That medic advised me against wearing it within Tharsis. He seems to have a great distaste for it.”

Ciaran felt a smile tug on his lips. “Well, it’s not really needed inside Tharsis and the Windy Plains.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” Xander commented pointlessly.

Ciaran tugged nervously at his shirt and chewed on his bottom lip. Speaking of the Windy Plains…

“Um, hey,” Ciaran murmured, wanting Xander to turn to look at him.

Thankfully, he did. “Hm?”

Ciaran surprised Xander by lifting his hand and gently touching the side of his face. “…Thank you,” he said, looking straight into his eyes. “I mean that.”

An expression of utterly surprise appeared on Xander’s face, his eyes wide and unblinking.

Slowly, Ciaran pulled back his hand and turned to walk away, knowing he won’t get much else of the stubborn and silent Imperial. And he won’t force him to respond. He said what he needed to say. He said the truth. That was enough.

However, Ciaran hadn't gotten two steps before Xander suddenly moved behind him and wrapped his arms around him, one over his stomach to rest his hand on his hip, the other across his chest to rest his hand on his shoulder. A soft gasp of surprise escaped Ciaran's lips as Xander rested his chin on his right shoulder.

“X-Xander?” Ciaran stuttered, flustered beyond belief as he turned his head slightly to look at him.

“I need you to teach me,” Xander unexpectedly said to him, a sense of pleading in his voice. “Teach me to be human.”

Ciaran felt his cheeks heat up in a deep blush. “I…” he murmured as a fluttering sensation appeared in his stomach. He soon realised what Xander meant by being human. He didn’t see himself as a human. He saw himself as a soldier. What he was brought up to be. What he was trained to be.

Slowly, Ciaran raised his hands to gently grasp at Xander’s arm that was across his chest. “I can do that,” he murmured as he sunk back against him.

Ciaran felt an unfamiliar sense of warmth rush through him as Xander tightened his arms around him, holding him closer. He didn’t know what it was that was forming between them. Friendship? Love? Simple need for physical closeness?

Whatever it was, he didn’t want to let it slip through his fingers.

… … … … …

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Kirjonen gazed out of the open window toward the sky above. The twinkling stars in the night sky allowed him to quiet his mind and to muse passively to himself. The night air on his flush skin was soothing.

It was so strange. He had been closed to death, he had been told. That flower that was given to him as a seeming token of peace was actually poisonous. And he almost succumbed to the flower’s deadly pollen. Had it not been for Varuna’s quick thinking, Nitish’s medicine crafting abilities, Isiah’s healing talents and Guild Phaedron’s willingness to do whatever was necessary to save him, he would not have lived.

He should feel scared, unnerved by his near demise.

And yet…all he really felt was a sense of guilt. Guild Phaedron went through so much trouble seeking the ingredients for his medicine. All while Roxbury and Ciaran needed desperate help, too.

How foolish of him to receive any kind of token from a woman who had been nothing but hostile toward him…

“Ah, Kirjonen.”

Turning his gaze back inside and toward the door to his room, Kirjonen felt a small smile slip across his lips as Logre stood in the threshold. He had a few minor bandages adorning his arms, indicating that he had a few scrapes and abrasions that would heal naturally on their own without leaving a scar.

“Logre,” Kirjonen greeted in return.

“How are you feeling?” Logre asked as he stepped into the room.

Unconsciously tugging on the light blanket that was draped across his shoulders, Kirjonen shuffled slightly on the bed so that he could give Logre his full attention. “Hm, I feel much better now.”

Logre idly nodded his head. He did look relieved, though.

“Varuna told me everything he knew,” Kirjonen stated as he pulled the blanket closer around him, immediately noticing the subtle wince on Logre’s face. “Hard to believe so much has happened and I was unaware of it all.”

Logre seemed to shift awkwardly on his feet. “I feel as if I owe you an apology.”

Kirjonen felt himself frowning. “Whatever for?”

“Neolani targeted you out of jealousy,” Logre said, a sense of bitterness in his tone. “Because of me.”

“She targeted me because she…?” Kirjonen murmured as he tried to decipher what Logre was insinuating before a look of realisation appeared on his face and he almost laughed outright.

Jealous of what, exactly? That he knew Logre? That he was friends with the man? That was all there was to it. Friends…Logre would never feel anything more toward him. Not him. Not when he had…another who would be more suited.

“I see,” he murmured as he shook his head despondently, a sad smile gracing his lips. “Foolish woman. As if I…”

Logre made a slight questioning sound upon him trailing off. “Hm?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Kirjonen said in response, still smiling softly. “I’m sorry for all the trouble that I have caused.”

“That’s hardly your fault,” Logre stated, a slight tone of teasing in his voice.

Kirjonen lifted his head to gaze directly upon Logre’s face. “If that is so, then you’re not to blame for anything either.”

Logre gazed at him for a moment, his lips pressed together tightly in a thin line. He then sighed and scratched the back of his neck, looking away from him. Looking guiltily at the ground.

Kirjonen didn’t like that look. Not at all.

“Don’t feel guilty,” Kirjonen murmured as he forced himself to his feet, relying on the window sill for support as he turned to look directly at Logre once more. “I’m fine now. I don’t…want to think that it’s only guilt what you hold towards me.”

He wanted to say more, he wanted to tell Logre that there was no need to feel any sense of duty or obligation toward him, not now that he was cured. However, the words were lost when his world suddenly tilted off balance. His world then turned grey, his senses dimming alarmingly.

When his senses abruptly returned what felt like a mere moment later, Kirjonen was surprised to find himself leaning against Logre’s chest, the taller and older man’s arms wrapped around him in support.

“S-sorry,” Kirjonen murmured, his cheeks heating up in a blush that was playing havoc on his already dizzy and weaken state.

“You all right?” Logre asked him, his concern for his welfare abundant in his voice.

“Just a little dizzy,” Kirjonen answered softly. He knew he shouldn’t take advantage of Logre’s kindness toward him, but he found himself unwilling to push away. Instead, he allowed his eyes to drift close as he leaned further into Logre’s arms. “Just…let me rest here for a bit, please.”

Logre breathed a deep sigh before his arms abruptly tightened around him. “…Sure.”

… … … … …

After speaking with Nitish for a moment and ensuring that his brother was uninjured and safe back inside the Researchers’ Clinic, Falkner slipped out the back door into the garden, searching out a certain nightseeker to speak with him. And to, well, thank him for his help back at the Forgotten Capital. Him and his partner (brother? Companion?).

He found the two surprisingly easily, sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall of the clinic. They weren’t hiding by true definition, but they were away in the back corner, keeping out of the way and away from attention.

Telem had the hood of his cloak pulled back, revealing his grey-black hair while Durriken had also removed his woollen cap, nervously tugging and twisting it around in his hands. The two were quietly talking to each other, whispering so not to draw attention to themselves.

“Hey,” Falkner called out as he approached the two.

“Hm?” Telem murmured as he turned to regard him with a look of curiosity, while Durriken suddenly took to his feet.

“I’ll head elsewhere,” he unexpectedly said as Falkner paused near them.

Falkner was surprised by Durriken’s reaction to his appearance. “You can stay.”

“No,” Durriken said as he carefully replaced his woollen cap upon his head, hiding his short, grey hair. He then granted Falkner a small smile that seemed to hold a surprising amount of understanding to it. “I wish to speak with the purple-furred bushi.”

“Sure,” Falkner simply said, watching as the runemaster silently walked his way to the other end of the garden, where Biast was sitting in a lotus position, staring up at the moon high above.

Biast flicked his ear in acknowledgement when Durriken approached, not surprised his appearance in the slight. He indicated with a wave of his hand for the other to join him, to sit next to him. And Durriken took up the offer, lowering himself onto the grass next to him, the two of them focusing up at the moon. Durriken probably wanted to speak with Biast about the short time he had spent at the Golden Lair ten years ago.

Lowering himself onto the spot Durriken just vacated, Falkner reached into his vest and pulled out small parcel wrapped in purple silk. “Here,” he said as he presented it to Telem.

Telem blinked down at the parcel before cautiously taking it. As he unravelled the silk, his brow furrowed in confusion. “An Imperial badge?” he murmured.

“Someone you used to know,” Falkner said, indicating for him to turn it over to view the other side. And as Telem did so, Falkner noticed how he subtly tightened his hand around the badge and a far off look appeared in his eyes.

“I see,” Telem murmured as he idly trailed his thumb over the lettering etched into the badge. “So…this survived also.”

Falkner glanced down at the badge in Telem’s hand before pulling a knee toward his chest and wrapping his arms around it casually. “Can I ask?”

Telem sighed as he lifted his head up to look up at the sky. “…I guess.”

“How did you make it back?” Falkner found himself asking gently.

“Luck,” Telem murmured as his eyes slid close, allowing for the memory to wash over him again. “Nothing more. A small tunnel through the mountains. Took us days to pass through. On the brink of death we managed. Somehow.”

Falkner couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going through their minds at that time. To be so alone, so desperate, so lost…so young.

“Were you found by Elder Gratiana?”

“Yes, fortunately,” Telem said as he opened his eyes, gazing skywards once again. “She took care of us, kept us safe. She taught us to hide, to keep silent. There were…rumours about us in the following years. Threats of death followed said rumours…The Empire couldn’t afford loose ends.”

Falkner physically winced. To finally manage to return home, only to realise they weren’t welcomed must have been gut-wrenching. Even for children soldiers, that would have been tough to understand. To be made to feel so utterly unwanted…that feeling would have been more painful than any physical injury could be.

“What are you going to do now?”

Slowly, Telem turned to look at him, gazing at him silently for a moment before looking away again. “…Not entirely sure,” he answered honestly. “I suppose…continue to support Prince Baldur to the best of my ability. There’s nothing else someone like me could possibly do.”

“I don’t know about that,” Falkner said as he, too, turned to look up at the sky. “You’d probably make a good explorer.”

“…Is that so?” Telem murmured idly.

Falkner nodded his head simply. “Yeah.”

Telem was silent before he was heard murmuring under his breath. “…such a strange guild…”

Falkner could only smile.


	23. Chapter 23

Folding his arms loosely over his chest, Baldur stepped outside onto the top step of the Researchers’ Clinic. The residence was surprisingly empty, no one stopping him from wandering about. They didn’t need to anymore. Though, why he continued to stay with guild Phaedron at the clinic was a mystery to him. He could move into the Grand Mark’s Court if he so desired.

Baldur sighed and shook his head as he sat himself down upon the top step. To be honest, he didn’t want to. He had…grown used to the sounds and the antics of the guild. Moving into the Grand Mark’s Court, especially now, would be too…quiet. He wouldn’t be able to stand it.

As he sat under the light of the morning sun, Baldur gaze out upon the denizens of Tharsis. Sentinels and Vessels, Tharsis soldiers and Imperial Knights. They were all intermingling together, aided by the many different classes of explorers and adventurers. And as he looked out at it all, at the mystic Yggdrasil tree far off in the distance, he couldn’t help but realise how close they all came to losing it all. Twice.

Baldur subconsciously tightened his arms around himself. What he had learnt, what he had saw… A puppet for ten years. His advisors during his reign, after his father’s disappearance, cared nothing for him. They were even instrumental in the ‘disappearance’ of the one elder who actually did care for him.

It was…going to take some time to recover from that. Isiah promised him that he would, though. And, well, rather unfortunately, that terrorising medic had been right so far.

One step at a time. One day at a time. That was all he could do.

Several days has passed since…that second event in the Cloudy Stronghold. Roxbury had suffered severely from his ordeal. Physically and mentally. Even now, days later, he was walking around with the aid of a crutch and hated the pitch black of night. He was also very adamant that no one was to venture anywhere near the labyrinth known as Hall of Darkness.

Baldur couldn’t blame him. That place…was unlike anything he had ever seen before. And he had only encountered the first floor. From what he had heard, the second floor had certain…quirks that were more terrifying.

Kirjonen had recovered from his poisoning, but the guild was still keeping a close eye on him just in case there were any long-lasting effects. Logre was sporadically checking up on him, although for some reason would play it down by saying that Isiah had ordered him to. Whenever he said that with Isiah in the vicinity, the medic would snort at him and tell him to ‘stop being a fucking idiot and to grow a pair already’. Whatever that meant.

And Ciaran had also recovered from his own ordeals, although he was still understandably jumpy and hated to be at his wharf alone at night. However, he had Xander constantly shadowing him now. It would be rare to find one without the other these days. Xander had also gone away with his armour. Either Isiah threatened him (like before) or Ciaran was the one who insisted. Either way, he looked…different without his armour.

Guild Phaedron had returned to normal, it seemed. Investigating, researching, exploring. However, they had a few more ‘honorary’ members and a few more additional tasks. Grammy had asked the guild, or rather specific members of said guild, to do her a kind favour. To take a native of the Cloudy Stronghold under their wing and to guide them toward a life of freedom and peace, something that they knew little of.

Of course they agreed. The whole guild promised to help, as a matter of fact. And, honestly, no one expected any less of them.

Grammy, however, went a step further and asked that Baldur himself also have a guide. A guardian, as it were. And, well, the one she asked was somewhat surprising considering they were about the same age.

“Hey, wakey-wakey, dreamy head.”

Pulled from his musings by the voice of the one he had actually been thinking about, Baldur blinked when he found his vision filled with blue eyes and blond hair. “Eh?” he unwillingly muttered, surprised that Blayden was able to appear directly in front of him without him realising it.

A wide grin appeared on Blayden’s as he planted his hands on his hips. “Day dreaming, huh?”

“Of course not,” Baldur immediately scoffed as he sent the blond a light glare. “Princes don’t day dream.”

Blayden gave him a mocking pout. “How boring.”

“Who are you calling boring?” Baldur returned before suddenly realising something. Blayden was dressed in his explorer’s armour, a sword strapped to his side and a shield on his left arm. He had to admit that he was somewhat surprised. The last few days Blayden had been following him around, taking his role as ‘Guardian’ seriously.

“Hm? Are you heading out into the field today?” he asked.

“Yep!” Blayden replied with another beaming grin. “Going to start from the very beginning. Old Forest Mine. Only fair that veteran explorers like me showed the newbies a thing or two, huh?”

Baldur still found it hard to believe that the bubbly blond in front of him was a seasoned explorer. “…Veteran, huh?”

Blayden pouted at him again. “I could show you a thing of two.”

“Unlikely,” Baldur retorted with a slight snort. However…“Sounds interesting. Exploration.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Blayden unexpectedly said in a rather sing-song voice.

“Oh?” Baldur muttered as he arched an eyebrow at him. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing…harmful, promise,” Blayden said as he continued to grin before suddenly turning away and running off. “See ya in a bit!” he called over his shoulder.

Baldur watched him leave. How curious. Wonder what he was really up to?

As Blayden ran off, an elderly woman with her hair in two braids and over her shoulders appeared with a walking stick in one hand while the other toyed idly with the end of a braid. Her steps were slow and somewhat laboured, a testament to the long life of hardship she had lived. Her face, however worn and wrinkled, held a sense of maternal warmth, a lively sparkle in her eye.

“Morning, Grammy!” Blayden greeted loudly as he dashed by her, barely slowing down for a reply.

“And you, child,” Grammy returned with sincerity before chuckling softly and resuming her walk. “Ah, such enthusiasm.”

As Grammy drew closer, no doubt heading over toward him, Baldur pushed himself to his feet and slowly descended the stairs.

“Good morning, dear,” Grammy greeted warmly.

“Morning,” Baldur mumbled in reply, still feeling somewhat bewildered by the manner of which he was reunited with the elderly woman.

“Would you like to go for a walk with me?” Grammy suddenly requested from him. “Such a lovely day for it. We never had the opportunity back in the Cloudy Stronghold, did we?”

Baldur didn’t see the harm. “…I guess,” he said after a shrug.

Grammy appeared delighted as she linked her arm through his, Baldur allowing her to do so before she pulled him along. Their pace was slow at best, ambling along without destination. Only the sound of their footsteps and Grammy’s walking cane could be heard between them. However, Baldur didn’t mind the silence. He reminded him of the time when he was much younger. A memory of him and his father, of Grammy, as they walked the South Sanctuary together, looking at the books and wisteria. It was one of only a few memories he could recall of his father.

After that…

No, change that thought. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He didn’t want it to have power over him.

“Good morning your highness, Elder Gratiana,” a familiar voice greeted, pulling Baldur from his thoughts.

Looking to his right, Baldur nodded his head idly in return as Achyuta and Nitish stopped before him and Grammy, the two of them standing close together, shoulder to shoulder. In one of Achyuta’s arms was a brown paper bag, seemingly filled to the brim with blue bottles, while his other hand held Nitish’s tightly.

“Oh, good morning Achyuta and Nitish,” Grammy greeted politely and sincerely as she looked up at the two with pure fondness in her gaze. “I must say, you look radiant today, Nitish.”

“O-oh, I do?” Nitish stuttered as a light flush appeared on his cheeks and he subconsciously moved closer to Achyuta, reaching out with his other hand to touch just the inside of Achyuta’s elbow. “Thank you. I’m…I’m just happy to see that imperials are settling in well within Tharsis now,” he said with a warm smile.

“Yes,” Grammy immediately agreed. “It is good to see.”

“I’m afraid we can’t stay for long,” Achyuta said with an apologetic expression on his face as he indicated to the bag he was carrying. “Nitish and I need to deliver these medicines to the Atelier. They’re in demand at the moment.”

Grammy made a noise of understanding. “Ah, if Nitish is the one who made them, then I’m not surprised.”

Nitish’s blush darkened ever so slightly, but he continued to smile nonetheless. “I’m very proud of my creations,” he said, without any sense of boasting or ego.

“Shall we go?” Achyuta asked Nitish, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yes,” Nitish said as he turned his attention to Achyuta to smile at him before turning back to Baldur and Grammy, bidding them both a farewell. “Enjoy your day.”

“You too,” Grammy immediately replied.

With one last smile from the both of them, the two quietly wandered off, uncaring of the bustling of the streets around them. Baldur felt a strange sense of…emptiness (or something equivalent) as he watched Nitish rest his head against Achyuta’s shoulder. They were so close…

“Ah, they’re so much in love, aren’t they?” Grammy commented unexpectedly as she, too, gazed at them with a sense of longing in her eyes. She then uttered a sigh before tugging him along to continue their walk.

They only managed to get a couple of steps before another pair of familiar faces entered their line of sight. A certain wharf-master and dark-skinned Imperial, to be exact. Xander was carrying a pile of wooden material while Ciaran seemed to be carrying scrolls of blueprints.

Upon recognising Baldur and Grammy amongst the morning bustle, Xander immediately stood to attention, causing Ciaran to stop and look over also. “Prince Baldur. Elder Gratiana.”

Grammy tapped her walking stick upon the ground a couple of times, as if warding off his formalities. “Yes, dear, good morning.”

Stepping out from behind Xander, Ciaran moved to stand next to him instead, smiling at the two of them. “Hey,” he said as he shifted a stack of documents from one arm to another.

“Ah, wharf-master,” Grammy said as she turned her attention to the redhead. “Busy at work, I see.”

“Never a dull moment,” Ciaran said with a slight grin before a light dusting of red unexpectedly appeared on his cheeks and he shyly glanced over at the Imperial next to him. “Xander has been a great help.”

"Hm. We really should thank you for guiding Xander for us, dear," Grammy said with a small grateful smile on her lips.

Ciaran’s blush unexpectedly darkened and he seemed to squirm uncomfortably. "W-well, yeh know...we need to help each other, right?"

Grammy continued to smile knowingly up at him. Although, there was a sense of mirth in her gaze. "I'm sure Xander fully appreciates everything you have done for him," she stated as she turned her gaze toward the dark-skinned Imperial standing behind Ciaran. "Isn't that right, Xander?"

"Yes, of course," Xander immediately replied in a somewhat stoic manner. "Ciaran has been very...patient with me."

For some reason, the blush on Ciaran's cheeks seemed to darken. "We gotta go now!" he unexpectedly said as he snared Xander by the wrist and all but dragged him away. Xander looked somewhat baffled, but allowed the wharf-master to pull him along nonetheless.

"Ah dear," Grammy murmured with an amused tone as she tugged Baldur along by their linked arms. "Still in the courting phase, I see."

Courting phase? Baldur was tempted to ask her what she meant but decided against it. He had learnt from experience that you don't question someone who held mirth in their gaze.

They fell into silence as they walked for a few minutes, watching with idle, yet somewhat curious gazes as explorers mingled effortlessly with the races of Sentential and Vessels, noting how the Tharsis guards were no longer eying off the Imperials soldiers with suspicions.

Amongst the masses, yet more familiar faces were found. The purple-furred bushi was sitting in the lotus position in a small park-like area, his blade sheathed and resting against his shoulder. He was speaking with the gaunt, short-haired runemaster, whom of which was tugging restlessly at his robes as he stood in front of him.

Grammy immediately pulled Baldur toward them.

"Yes, I do recall Claudia having a bit of a split personality," Durriken was heard saying as he held his chin in thought. "She could be both caring and vicious at the same time."

"Indeed," Biast said in return, a slight chuckle in his voice. "Recall when a Plated Chaser made its way into the village?"

Durriken seemed to wince from the memory. "...Yes, unfortunately," he muttered. "Seemed she believed it was coming for me."

Biast chuckled lowly, his shoulders shaking a little in amusement. "Yes, and she grabbed you by the scruff of the neck and threw you effortlessly into a tent. All with one arm, may I add?"

Durriken winced again, turning his gaze toward the ground in thought. "I don't recall much after that, I'm afraid."

Again, Biast chuckled.

"Good morning, you two," Grammy called out in greeting.

Immediately Biast and Durriken turned their attention toward Baldur and Grammy, both of them bowing their heads slightly in greeting. Neither of them seemed even remotely bothered that they had butted in on their conversation.

"Good morning, Prince Baldur, Elder Gratiana," Durriken returned politely.

"And a good morning to you as well," Biast replied.

“Ah, so Isiah has finally let you out of his sight, Durriken?” Grammy asked, her question seemingly out of the blue.

“Well, yes, for now I suppose,” Durriken replied as he shifted somewhat nervously on his feet and unconsciously tugged at his robes. “He seems to think I’m dangerously underweight.”

Grammy nodded her head in understanding before a sympathetic look appeared on her face. “You’ve never had a good relationship with food, have you?”

Durriken grimaced. “Unfortunately not,” he murmured, his voice rather tight, as if from pain.

“Not to worry,” Biast said abruptly, causing the runemaster to turn toward him. “Our three researchers will gently help you to improve on that,” he added as he flicked his ear idly.

Durriken stared up at Biast for a moment, seemingly surprised by his words, his kindness and comfort, before smiling softly. “…Yes.”

As Baldur looked at Durriken, he couldn't help but notice something was missing. "Where's Telem?" he found himself asking.

A slight smirk unexpectedly appeared on Durriken's lips as he turned his attention back to him. "He's busy at the moment," was all he would say.

Baldur arched an eyebrow, but questioned him no further. He simply allowed Grammy to bid them both a good day before she tugged him along, continuing their walk.

“Ah, young Kirjonen,” Grammy suddenly called out a few minutes into their stroll.

Glancing over in the direction Grammy was focused in, Baldur watched as the familiar Holy Rune Knight carefully made his way over to them. Dressed in his armour, his shield at his side, it was hard to believe that this was the same man who was on the verge of death thanks to a poisonous flower. It was remarkable how well he had recovered.

“You seem to be heading out for the day,” Grammy continued.

“Ah, good morning Prince Baldur, Elder Gratiana,” Kirjonen politely returned before subconsciously straightening his posture, smoothing down his robes and re-checking the latches of his armour. “Yes, just a few minor errands today for the Count. Logre will be accompanying me. Guild Phaedron…are still fussing over me, it seems.”

“Oh, let them fuss,” Grammy said rather dismissively. “They’re very good at it.”

Kirjonen smiled softly before seemingly unable to prevent himself from rolling his eyes. “Too much so, I believe.”

Baldur snorted. “…I know that feeling,” he muttered.

Grammy chortled softly for a moment before turning her attention back to Kirjonen, granting him a rather…telling smile. “Ah, so Logre will be spending the day with you, then?”

“Yes,” Kirjonen said as he also nodded his head in the affirmative. However, a split second later, an expression that seemed to be a mix of guilt and anxiety appeared on his face. “Unless he’s needed elsewhere?”

“Now now, nothing like that,” Grammy said quickly, flapping her hand at him in a somewhat reassuring way. “Don’t fret. He’s all yours.”

A deep, dark blush suddenly appeared on Kirjonen’s cheeks and he stuttered slightly. “O-oh, ah, very well. I-I must get going. Need to prepare for travel.”

“Take care, dear,” Grammy said, waving the blond off as he made a hasty retreat.

Baldur couldn’t stand it any longer. The elderly woman next to him seemed to know way too much about the people of Tharsis. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing, dear,” Grammy said as she hummed slightly, once again pulling him along so they could continue their walk. “Just an old woman having some fun.”

…Fun, huh? Meddling sounded more plausible.

“Elder Gratiana. Prince Baldur. G-good morning.”

Upon hearing a voice that was only vaguely familiar to him, Baldur turned to his right to find a young woman with pink-hair in low pigtails over her shoulders standing there. She was rather tall and well built, but not overly muscular. The white and blue sundress she wore fitted her well. Baldur didn’t recognise her immediately, but when she started to fidget, shifting from one foot to the other, did he realise that the woman in front of him, girly and feminine, was an Imperial. The one called Yesmina.

“Ah, Yesmina, you look lovely today,” Grammy immediately said, causing the young woman to blush a shade darker than her hair.

“Oh, um, t-thank you,” Yesmina said as she toyed nervously with the skirt of her dress, the hemline just above her knees. “Mr Isiah from the Phaedron guild didn’t like the armour, so I-I visited the weapon shop and the girl said I-I should wear this instead. I-It’s ok, right?”

“You look beautiful,” Grammy said, complimenting the woman sincerely. “I’m sure your new friend, Wiglaf, would love to see you.”

“Eh?!” Yesmina suddenly shrieked. “B-but I’m not ready!”

With a noise that was akin to that of a wounded animal, Yesmina spun on her heel and promptly fled. With a matter of seconds, she was completely out of sight. Baldur could only blink mutely at her actions while Grammy chortled once again.

“How adorable.”

Baldur found himself deadpanning. She knew what kind of reaction she would get by mentioning that dancer’s name. It was obviously she did that on purpose. Having fun indeed.

“How you doing, kiddo?”

Baldur felt himself twitch when he recognised the voice. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” he asked as he spun around to face the source of the voice.

Standing with his hip slightly cocked out to the side and a lopsided grin on his lips, Falkner answered him readily. “Until you’re older than me.”

“That’s…” Baldur muttered as he narrowed his eyes at the sniper. “That’s not possible.”

Falkner grinned at him. “Exactly.”

Baldur couldn’t find a scathing retort worthy enough and it didn’t help that Grammy was once _again_ chortling rather loudly to herself.

“Hey,” a familiar black-haired sniper said as he suddenly pushed his way into the middle of the small group, decked out in his explorer gear and his bow resting on his back. He looked up at Falkner with a rather exasperated expression on his face. “Have you seen Miach?”

Falkner tilted his head to the side as he regarded his little brother. “No, why?”

“He’s wandered off again!” Fletcher replied, loudly, as he folded his arms in an irritated fashion over his chest and began to complain. “Jeez! I can’t find him anywhere!”

Baldur couldn’t help himself. “Maybe you just need a higher advantage point,” he mumbled.

Fletcher immediately spun around to face him, puffing out his cheeks in annoyance. “What was that?!” he demanded, all but getting up in his face.

Baldur snorted at his intimidation and looked dismissively to his side. As he did so, the sight of a certain purple-haired medic miraculously wandered into view. Airy as always, he seemed to be wandering around in a daze, but he did have his mace and medical bag with him, as if he was getting ready for a day of exploration himself.

“I said he’s over there,” Baldur said as he pointed Miach out to the irritated sniper.

“Where?” Fletcher said as he spun around to face where Baldur was pointing and soon dashed off without so much as a thanks or a goodbye. “Miach! You air-headed dork, get over here!”

Miach, surprisingly, paused in his steps and turned to look at Fletcher as he raced over to him, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. “Hm?”

“Don’t ‘hm’ me, ya weirdo,” Fletcher said as he snared Miach by the wrist, immediately dragging him off. “We’ve got to get ready, remember?”

“Ah…” Miach uttered simply as he allowed himself to be pulled along.

“Speak proper sentences! Sheesh!”

“Kay.”

“Ugh!”

…What were they getting ready for? Were they joining Blayden with his little outing? That must be it.

“Oh, Elder Gratiana. How are we today?”

Tearing his gaze off the flighty sniper and hazy medic, Baldur watched as the brown-haired dancer sashsayed over to stand before Grammy, seemingly quite familiar with the elderly woman now.

“Wiglaf, dear, I’m fine,” Grammy said as she smiled up at the other woman. “I am taking a walk with his highness. It is a lovely day for it.”

“Typical for this time of year,” Wiglaf said with a wink before turning her attention completely on Falkner, sending him an amused smirk. “Hey, Falkner. It seems you’ve gained an admirer,” she said as she indicated behind him with a tilt of her head.

Out of his own idly curiosity, Baldur glanced in the direction Wiglaf motioned in to see that the nightseeker, Telem, was lounging, seemingly idly, on the rooftop of some building. It looked like he was just simply sitting there, admiring the view, but he seemed to be constantly looking over in their direction.

Turning his attention back to the redheaded sniper, Baldur realised that Falkner hadn’t bothered to turn in to direction Wiglaf indicated in. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder. However, he surprisingly flushed lightly before grinning and folding his arms over his chest, turning his gaze just over Wiglaf’s shoulder.

“I’m not the only one,” he said.

“Hm?” Wiglaf hummed lightly in curiosity as she glanced over her should to look and, suddenly, squealed loudly as she turned around completely. “Are you wearing a dress?!”

Startled by her reaction, Baldur looked over in the same direction to see Yesmina was peering out from behind a wall, standing in an alleyway between two buildings. The frills and lace of her blue and white dress was easily seen against the breaks veneer of the buildings. And she was wearing an expression that was of embarrassed horror when she realised Wiglaf had seen her.

“Oh, how cute~ No need to hide, sweetie!” Wiglaf continued to coo loudly, far too joyfully, before rushing forward, toward the pink-haired young woman, who in turn panicked and hid in the alleyway. “Get back here!”

“Oh-ho!” Grammy chortled sincerely as she watched Wiglaf all but dive into the alleyway Yesmina disappeared in, a loud shriek of surprise promptly following. “There’s a woman who isn’t afraid to go after what she wants.”

Baldur could only deadpan at the sight. He wasn’t going to ask what it was that Wiglaf was after.

Turning his attention back to Falkner, Baldur arched his eyebrow at him questioningly. “What are you doing to do with yours?” he asked, idly tilting his head in Telem’s direction.

Falkner paused as he lazily scratched the back of his head. “I’m…not entirely sure,” he awkwardly admitted.

“Never mind him, dear,” Grammy said with a sense of understanding in her voice. “Telem is used to observing from high advantage points. He knows no better.”

“Yeah, I know,” Falkner said as he dropped his arm to his side, relaxing his posture somewhat. He then sighed loudly, maybe even a little bit dramatically as he shrugged his shoulders, as if he was giving into something. “Hah…You Cloudy Stronghold natives. We simply can’t leave you alone, can we?”

Baldur immediately frowned, finding what the sniper was insinuating rather grating. “What are you trying to say?”

Falkner, however, didn’t answer him. Instead he finally turned to face the direction Telem could be seen in, cupped his hand next to his mouth and called out to him. “Hey, I’m heading to the wharf! Stop playing hide and seek and get down here!”

At first, Telem didn’t move. In fact, he looked surprised. However, he soon did what he was told, effortlessly dropping down from the rooftop to the stone covered streets and slowly, with his shoulders hunched in a rather…sheepish manner, made his way over to Falkner.

“Let’s go,” Falkner said simply as he indicated for the nightseeker to follow him.

And, wordlessly and still wearing an expression of confusion and surprise, Telem followed Falkner, keeping a step or two behind him the entire time.

“Receiving unconditional kindness from another is confusing and startling, isn’t it?” Grammy suddenly questioned as she continued to gaze off in the direction Falkner and Telem disappeared in.

…It was.

“They would make a cute couple,” Grammy suddenly added as a small, knowing smile appeared on her lips.

Couple? Wait, don’t tell him…That was what she had been doing the entire time, wasn’t it? Ngh…

“How do you know all this?” Baldur fearfully asked.

Grammy smiled unashamedly as she pulled him along once again. “What else should the Count and I discuss over tea, child?”

Baldur was torn between feeling incredibly creeped out and insanely fearful by that. “…I won’t ask anymore.”

“Are you sure?” Grammy said with great amusement. “The Count and I are betting when Isiah will snap and strand both Logre and Kirjonen somewhere, the Windy Plains most likely, in order for them to get their act together. Goodness, it’s been far too long!”

“Please stop…”

Before Grammy could tell (torture) him with details of what she and the Count liked to talk about, there was a sound of a small explosion, like that of the skill fireball rune being used, which was promptly followed by that of a human yelp of surprise and pain.

Immediately turning in the direction of the noise, Baldur furrowed his brow when he realised that a runemaster with long brown hair in the style that was similar to that of Nitish’s had a man dressed in rugged clothing by his throat, holding him effortlessly in one hand and had pulled him close toward him as he glared menacingly at him.

“Oh, I’m a cripple, am I?” Kalan said as he raised his other hand, making another small fireball. “Why don’t I show you what a _cripple_ really is?”

Baldur felt his eyes narrow. That man seemed vaguely familiar…Oh, right, he was the one that Blayden beat up in the middle of the street after making an impertinent comment about Baldur’s health. That man seemed incapable of staying out of trouble.

“Kalan,” Mahalah’s voice called out, prompting Kalan to lift his head up and turn toward his left where the purple-haired dancer could be seen walking toward him. “We don’t engage in fights inside of Tharsis.”

“Very well,” Kalan unexpectedly replied in a dutiful manner, while still keeping a hold of the man’s neck. He then turned back to the victim in his grip and narrowed his eyes fearsomely at him. “Then I shall drag you out to the Windy Plains and gut you there.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mahalah said before he sighed aloud and shook his head. “Oh well, baby steps I suppose.”

Baldur wasn’t surprised to hear Grammy laughing at his side once again. Well, someone was certainly having fun, weren’t they?

As if prompted by Grammy’s laugh, Mahalah turned his attention from Kalan (whom of which was still, ah, threatening the guy) and toward them, immediately smiling upon recognising them. “Ah, good morning Elder Gratiana.”

“And you, child,” Grammy said kindly as she and Baldur slowly made their way toward the dancer. “Thank you so much for agreeing to keep an eye on Kalan.”

“Not at all,” Mahalah replied with a knowing smile. “After all, we have common interests.”

Suddenly, Mahalah’s kind expression faltered and he narrowed his eyes as he gazed just over the top of Baldur’s head. “Speaking of which…”

Somewhat startled, Baldur turned his head to look where Mahalah seemed to be glaring at and promptly realised the reason for said sour look. The Imperial that was Achyuta’s (older) twin brother was standing in front of a certain brown-haired fortress, who of which had his back against the wall of a building. From the way they were standing, near chest to chest, it appeared as if Zesiro had pinned Roxbury to the wall. And from that slightly predatory expression on his face, and the look of surprise on Roxbury’s, the blond-haired man seemed to be on the verge of…instigating something.

“Ah, Kalan,” Mahalah said with a slight tone of disapproval in his voice. “It seems Zesiro is getting one over you.”

Kalan immediately dropped the man he was threatening as he spun around, honing in on the direction of Zesiro and Roxbury. “That bastard at it again?”

Mahalah didn’t bother to answer. Instead he simply smiled as Kalan stalked over to the pair, forming a fireball in his right hand. A split second later, he flicked it far too casually at Zesiro, hitting him square in the side. Zesiro uttered a surprised yelp and instinctively pulled away from Roxbury, who in turn grasped at his crutch in order to stay on his feet, he too instinctively curling away from the attack.

A second later, Kalan was on Zesiro.

“Stupid, stupid bastard,” Kalan said as he punctuated each word with a belt to the back of Zesiro’s head. “His chastity is not yours to take.”

“What the hell?” Zesiro muttered as he easily brushed off Kalan’s physical assault. At first, he looked mildly annoyed, but he soon plastered a smirk on his lips as he regarded the runemaster. “Jealous?”

“K-Kalan?” Roxbury stuttered, seemingly surprised by his appearance and actions.

“And you,” Kalan said as he spun around fiercely on Roxbury, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You stop lowering your guard around this pervert.”

“W-what?” Roxbury spluttered as a dusting of red appeared on his cheeks. “I’m not doing anything!”

Baldur watched the scene with a rather…deadpan expression. “I thought he wasn’t allowed to pick fights in town?” he questioned the purple-haired dancer.

Mahalah simply continued to smile. “There are exceptions,” he answered.

“Mahalah?” Roxbury questioned as he turned around, as if just realising that Mahalah was within the vicinity. He looked somewhat embarrassed before a slight frown appeared on his lips. “Are you purposely trying to make my life difficult?” he unexpectedly asked him.

“Not at all,” Mahalah said as he smiled sweetly up at Roxbury before glancing over in Zesiro’s direction. “I’m making _his_ life difficult.”

Baldur shook his head, deciding to ignore the group and Grammy’s chortling at their antics. Honestly…

“Ah, there you are, Gratiana.”

It was simply pure reflex that Baldur winced at the sound of Isiah’s voice. He, however, still turned in the direction that voice resonated from, watching somewhat warily as Isiah walked straight over to them.

Stopping a few feet away, Isiah shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and directed his attention upon Grammy. “I’ve been meaning to ask; what kinds of food were available to you in the Cloudy Stronghold?” he asked suddenly, completely out of the blue.

“Ah, for Durriken?” Grammy questioned in return with a smile.

“For all the malnourished idiots,” Isiah replied gruffly as he glared with narrow eyes at a band of Imperials soldiers as they walked by, watching with a critical gaze as one of them broke away from the group to instead squat down to examine a flower that was growing through the pavement.

“Oh ho,” Grammy once again chortled. “I see.”

But before Grammy could give Isiah a couple examples of food, Logre appeared, carrying a large parcel, about the size of a large book in one hand. He was dressed casually, in the clothing he called his wandering gear and he had his bag hanging off his shoulder. Clearly, he, too, was ready for a day out in the field. He must be doing one last errand before leaving with Kirjonen.

“Ah, Prince Baldur, Elder Gratiana,” Logre said with a lopsided grin, appearing more causal toward them now. “Enjoying the sights of Tharsis?”

“Oh, yes,” Grammy immediately replied. “And they have been amusing to say the least.”

Logre arched an eyebrow and glanced over at Baldur, hoping for him to elaborate. Or maybe even explain. But instead, Baldur waved him off, indicating that he probably would sleep better not know what was going through Grammy’s head.

The corners of Logre’s lips unexpectedly twitched, as if he wanted to smirk. Instead he turned his attention to the long-haired medic. "Here, Isiah," he said as he handed Isiah a parcel. "Mail. From your penpal it seems."

"Ah, thanks," Isiah muttered as he retrieved the parcel.

"Eeh?!" the armour clad Imperial that had been busy inspecting the flower suddenly uttered as they jumped to their feet and spun around to look directly at Isiah. They then suddenly shrieked. Not a cry of surprise or shock, but a high-pitched shrill of utter terror, making everyone within hearing range jump in surprise. "It's the demon medic!"

The Imperial then spun on their heel and ran away, screaming the entire time.

A shocked silence filled the air as Isiah stared with an expression of bewilderment on his face.

After a few moments, Logre unexpectedly snorted. He then buckled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed. Loudly. In a way that Baldur had never heard from anyone else, let alone Logre himself. He was laughing so hard he was nearly wheezing.

"Oh, would you shut up," Isiah growled at Logre as he tore off the packaging paper surrounding his parcel.

"A perfectly reasonable response," Logre managed to wheeze out.

Baldur was somewhat surprised to realise that his lips were also threatening to break out into a smile.

Isiah snorted in response as he revealed a thick, leather bound book that seemed to come from the parcel. He then ignored Logre completely as he read a letter accompanying the book. He read through the letter while Logre managed to compose himself enough to actually stand up straight.

“Demon Medic, huh?” Logre repeated, his voice unsurprisingly hoarse from laughing. “That’s a new one, isn’t it?”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Isiah muttered as he continued to read the letter. “Especially since I’m communicating with someone nicknamed the Miracle Medic.”

Logre barely managed to hide a snort of amusement. “Is that so?”

“You done smirking?” Isiah asked as he folded the letter and tucked it away into his coat. “Or do I need to aide you back to your senses?”

“Now now,” Logre said with a lopsided grin. “No need for violence. I need to be respectable for today. Kirjonen and I are heading out to lend a hand to a few rookie guilds with their maps.”

“Uh huh,” Isiah said as he began to flip through the rather large, seemingly handwritten book. “Enjoy your date then.”

Logre frown lightly. “It’s not a date,” he seemed to insist.

_“Sure_ it’s not,” Isiah murmured as he focused entirely on the new book in his hands, completely tuning Logre out, even though the other seemed intent on explaining something to him. He did lift his head up a moment later, though, when Zoran scurried over to him, lugging a large book in his skinny arms.

“Ah, good,” Isiah said down to the little vessel. “Need a hand?”

Zoran shook his head as he smiled cutely, yet seemingly excited about something. “It’s not that heavy! Are they ready yet?”

“Not yet.”

Baldur felt his suspicions begin to reach boiling point…Something was going on. What were they planning?

“Oh-ho!” Grammy unexpectedly murmured joyfully, causing Baldur to turn his attention to the elder. “What a fun guild to be associated with.”

Even Baldur had to admit that they could be…entertaining without meaning to be.

“Isn’t it wonderful to see our Imperials getting along with those of other classes and races?” Grammy asked him as she turned to look at him.

There was no way he could deny that. “…I guess so.”

“Baldur, there you are.”

Somewhat startled by the sound of Varuna’s voice, Baldur glanced over his shoulder to find the nightseeker walking over toward him, decked out in his explorer’s cloak with his twin blades strapped to his sides. “Hm?”

“Grab your Monster Codex,” Varuna unexpectedly said to him. “Bryce and I are taking the younger members on an expedition. And Blayden and the others want you to come, too.”

Baldur blinked, truly surprised by the offer. He glanced behind Varuna to see Bryce standing in at the forefront of a small party consisting of Blayden, Fletcher and Miach. Why would they want him to join? But, before that, was he even allowed to join them?

Before he could allow himself to mull over that trail of thought, a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder. Out of instinct, he grimaced and immediately turned to look up at the owner of said hand. As usual, the owner was Isiah. However, instead of his usual cool expression of distain, he held a look of understanding.

And next to him was little vessel Zoran. Carrying a book. The Monster Codex.

“It’s going to be a steep learning curve for you,” Isiah said. “But I think you’ll catch on quickly.”

“Un!” Zoran seemed to agree as he presented to him the codex. “See lots of monsters so we can have better research data!”

Wordlessly, Baldur took the codex from Zoran and pressed it against his chest. He then turned to face Grammy, finding the elderly woman also looking at him with understanding fondness.

“Take care, your highness,” she said before indicating to where Bryce and the others of their expedition party were waiting. “And have fun.”

“Kirjonen and I will be out and about as well,” Logre said to him, causing Baldur to dumbly turn his attention to him, finding the other man smiling at him, much like the look Isiah and Grammy had given him. “So we’ll be seeing you out there.”

“Move your ass, princey!” Bryce suddenly called out to him, waving him over. “We’ve got a codex to fill up.”

Clutching the codex against his chest, Baldur found himself moving toward the group. He couldn’t find any words to speak, even when Varuna placed a hand on his back to guild him toward the others, even when Bryce took him by the shoulder to welcome him in, even when Blayden looped his arm around his neck with bubbling enthusiasm and an impish smile on his face.

Honestly, what could he say? There were no words, none that could describe that…warm feeling that was growing inside of him.

“You’re under the care of the Phaedron Guild now,” Varuna said to him, smiling gently down at him as he stood next to Bryce, the brown-haired landsknecht wrapping an arm around his waist. “No one is going to hurt you again. We promise.”

The Empire didn’t want him…but this guild did.

And, well, he could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet another multi-chapter story has ended! I said it would be about half as long as ALE, and it was pretty spot on! X3
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who had stuck with me through this series! I had a blast writing it, so I’m glad that you also enjoyed reading it!
> 
> Also, I’ve decided to give myself a break from writing novels for a while. Don’t worry, I’ll still write oneshots, drabbles, and short chaptered stories, you can’t get rid of me that easily. It’s just I haven’t been feeling the best for a while now and decided not to give myself the stress of the (self-imposed) rule of updating every week. Although, the stress of not giving in and writing a novel might make things worse XD


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